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THE VALIANT HEART 


jBY 

E/M; TENISON 


NEW YORK 

EDWIN S. GORHAM, Publisher 

11 WEST 45th STREET 
1920 



Copyright, 1920 
By EDWIN S. GORHAM 
Rights of translation into all foreign languages 
reserved , including Scandinavian 


DEC 16 1920 \y 

f 


©CU608120 


PROLOGUE 


“Bring from the craggy haunts of birch and pine, 
Thou wild wind, bring 
Keen forest odors from that realm of thine 
Upon thy wing. 

Oh wind, oh mighty, melancholy wind, 

Blow through me, blow! 

Thou blowest forgotten things into my mind 
From long ago!” 

(From Lyra Celtica.) 



















PROLOGUE 


THE HOUR BEFORE DAWN 

TN the darkest hour of the night, the hour before 
A dawn, deep was the hush in the birth-chamber. 
The torches burnt low, the storm-wind moaned and 
wailed; the very flames on the hearth burnt fitfully, 
quivering and trembling as if in terror of some 
sinister and icy presence invisible to mortal eyes. 

The Queen, white-lipped yet ever valiant, strove 
to restrain the cry which broke from her despite her 
resolute proud courage. 

Daughter of a warrior, wife of a warrior, she 
would fain be mother of a noble warrior, who 
should blend mercy with justice, tenderness with 
bravery, beauty with strength; one whose life would 
be as a shining star in a world of darkness, sorrow, 
and confusion. 

Very long and fervently she had prayed for such 
a son; and now at last her hour had come. But in 

her deep prophetic love she trembled for the fate 
ix 


X 


PROLOGUE 


of the soul to which she was to give an earthly body. 
A voice in her heart seemed to whisper that by her 
very consecration of her child to the service of the 
Unknown God, she was dooming him to toil much, 
suffer much, renounce much; and meet with nought 
but contumely and base ingratitude. 

And the pain which pierced her soul was sharper, 
more rending, than the pangs that tore her body. 

To those who watched around her it seemed she 
fell into a swoon which had the semblance of death; 
and they wailed and wrung their hands and cried, 
“Woe, woe, woe!” 

And the storm wind rose outside and howled in 
anger and derision. 

Mortal birth and death, human life and love, 
woman’s ecstasy and anguish, what are these to the 
mighty Storm Wind? — the wind which blew over the 
face of the earth and waters even in the dawn of 
Time, the wind which has seen race after race people 
the world, and struggle, and fight and fall, only to 
perish and be forgotten! 

Very mockingly shouted the winter wind, while 
the Queen lay motionless, hearing naught of the 
sobs and cries and prayers around her. But even 


PROLOGUE 


XI 


as the eyes and ears of her body were closed, the 
eyes of her soul were opened; and beside her bed 
she saw a black-browed being, not human though 
made in the image of mankind. 

Very majestic was he, strong of limb, and taller 
than the tallest; but dark and somber, with strange 
glowering eyes which brooded and smoldered, and 
cast upon the Queen a spell of icy horror. 

His robe was black, as if he for ever mourned. 
By his side there hung no weapon; yet was the mere 
glance of his eyes so potent, so bitter-chill, so evil, 
that the Queen’s soul trembled, as she said, “Who 
art thou?” 

And the Being answered, “Great am I; a Lord 
and Ruler over men; for behold in me a spirit who 
many a thousand years agone defied even God, the 
King of Kings, and rose in mutiny with the Arch- 
Rebel, stronger than the tyrant God.” 

Then the Queen marvelled and said, “Why com- 
est thou to me? Never have I rebelled against the 
Great Unknown God who rules my heart, the God 
of Love and Mercy whom no man yet has seen; and 
whom, alas, none worship in this kingdom, save 
only I the Queen.” 


Xll 


PROLOGUE 


Very scornful was the Evil Being’s smile, and 
his contempt beat on the soul of the Queen like 
blasts of angry tempest. 

But she faced him bravely: “What wouldst 
thou?” she said; “I know thee not.” 

And the Terrible One answered, “I would curse 
thee, I would blight thee, shatter thee, destroy thee.” 

And the soul of the Queen trembled again, but 
still she faced her adversary. 

“What evil have I done thee?” she asked, won- 
dering. 

“Great evil hast thou done me,” said the Spirit 
of Darkness; “for so strong thy prayers that they 
have risen up even to the throne of the Most High, 
the God of Gods, whom I and my potent Leader 
hated and renounced.” 

Almost did the Queen pity the dark-browed Spirit 
with the terrible eyes. Branded, defiled, and 
darkened as he was, never could he forget the God 
from Whom he was self-exiled. 

And as the Queen gazed upon the Fallen One, 
wondering how a Being so iron strong and so ma- 
jestically stem had yet been weak enough to be 
seduced from his allegiance, her pity pierced even 


PROLOGUE 


xiii 

the pride of the Dark Spirit, and he felt remorse 
and shame and torturing anguish. But only for a 
moment; for so bitter his pain, that he hated the 
more poignantly this mortal woman whose compas- 
sion made him feel himself so trebly vile. 

In his furious anger against God, and against 
her, God’s handmaid, his eyes grew black as mid- 
night, and he answered and said, “Relentlessly shall 
I for ever hate you; for by your prayers you draw to 
earth a fiery soul who will defy and mock the power 
of the potent Prince of Spirits, age-long foe of 
God the Absolute! Tireless my hatred of thy son. 
From his birth to his death will I persecute him; 
little joy shall he have; much servitude, and shame 
and degradation.” 

Then there came upon the Queen’s soul such an 
overwhelming anguish that it seemed as if the Un- 
known God, the God of her secret dreams, had left 
her naked and defenseless to this enemy who knew 
not mercy nor could comprehend true love. 

Her tortured spirit quivered in her body, and in 
one brief moment she thought she felt the sorrows 
of many thousand years of woe and darkness, even 
from the beginning of the world. 


XIV 


PROLOGUE 


But very steadfast was the Queen, with the cour- 
age which burns brighter the darker the night. 

From the black deeps of loneliness she resolutely 
gazed up to the highest Heavens; and though with 
her mortal eyes she saw no light, yet the light came 
down to her in shafts of radiance. 

And the Spirit from the Dark Abyss shrank back 
and trembled in the light. 

Then were the eyes of the Queen’s soul closed 
awhile to give her rest; then opened once more. 
And she beheld a glorious Being, radiant as the 
golden sunshine, gentle as the tenderest woman, 
stronger than the strongest warrior. 

Rose and gold and purple were his wings, and 
dazzling his sword of light, for he was one of those 
who fell not; those who at the end of Time shall 
win the great predestined victory, when sin shall 
die and death shall be for ever conquered. 

“Very valiant art thou, 0 Queen,” he said, “and 
chosen to be Mother of a Warrior of Love, whom I 
shall guide and inspire at the bidding of the Most 
High. See thou tellest no man thou hast this day 
beheld me; nor tell how bravely thou didst confront 
my adversary, he who was long ago my friend, my 


PROLOGUE 


XV 


starry brother, but who has fallen, fallen, fallen, 
and conspires to destroy the souls that I must lead 
and strengthen.” 

Greatly marvelled the Queen, and her heart was 
filled anew with wonder; for, as the Glorious Being 
spoke, his shining eyes brimmed over with tears of 
pity for the angry Fallen One, against whom he 
must fight until the end of Time, but for whose 
treason and rebellion he yet grieved. 

Dawn broke across the waters in a golden radi- 
ance; and, as the light of sunrise shimmered on the 
turbulent waves, the voice of the oldest druidess 
sounded out, tremulous and yet exultant: 

“The sacrifice has been accepted; the High Gods 
are appeased! The Queen shall live. And be- 
hold, her son is strong and beautiful, without a spot 
or blemish.” 

Then the Queen gave thanks and praise in her 
heart to the Unknown God — who had sent His 
messenger to strengthen and uplift her even in her 
darkest hour. 






















CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE 

PAGE 


The Hour Before Dawn ix 

CHAPTER PART I 

I Suspense 3 

II Sorrow 7 


III The Unquenchable Hope .... 15 


PART II 

IV The Conqueror 29 

V Loneliness 38 

VI Fatality 50 

VII Foreboding 58 

VIII Treason 67 

PART III 

IX The Crucial Test 75 

X The Price of Valor 87 

XI The Bitter Cup 94 

XII Desolation 102 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XIII Woman’s Love 107 

XIV “In the Name of the Most High Gods” 112 

PART IV 

XV “To the Unknown God” 127 

XVI The Barbarian 134 

XVII Soldier and Philosopher .... 137 

XVIII What of the Future? 151 

PART V 

XIX Anguish 163 

XX Master and Slave 179 

XXI The Message 189 

XXII In the Valley of the Shadow . . . 200 

XXIII The Dream 214 

XXIV The Quest 217 

XXV The Miracle 225 

XXVI “How Long, 0 God, How Long?” . . 242 

XXVII A Voice from Afar 256 

XXVIII Love Triumphant 278 


PART ONE 


















CHAPTER I 


SUSPENSE 

TN the palace by the sea the Queen of Western 

Alba waited and watched. Very pale her noble 
face; very weary her spirit, though in her quench- 
less courage she held her head proudly, and spake 
in a calm even voice, so that none suspected the 
dire anxiety that racked her, nor knew how a mortal 
illness slowly but surely sapped the strength of her 
body. 

Beautiful was she still, with the beauty which 
years cannot blight, nor pain destroy. But the 
hand of fear lay heavy on her spirit, for she felt a 
doom approaching — doom not to be averted by any 
druid’s spell, nor washed away by woman’s tears. 

Yet she gave no sign of grief to the young maid- 
ens who broidered and spun around her, they whose 
faces were smooth and fair, whose innocent hearts 
were untroubled by love or foreboding. 

The Queen’s hands, long and slender, lay lan- 
3 


4 


THE VALIANT HEART 


guidly on the golden arms of her chair. On a 
cushion of purple rested her feet ; a mantle of white 
and gold hung from her shoulders; round her 
queenly brow her diadem glimmered; but brighter 
shone her eyes. Yet was this very brightness no 
light of joy, but the stem sad light of deathless 
valor, conquering fear and making ready to endure 
even the worst the Gods might send her. 

Fiery red was the sky, for the sun was setting in 
anger; and the waves of the sea were reddened as 
with the blood of heroes. 

On the Stones of Sacrifice that morning the 
Druids had offered a victim, bound with thongs and 
quivering with terror, a pure white doe; and its 
eyes had been piteous as the eyes of a maiden seek- 
ing mercy from the ravisher. 

The Queen’s heart had sickened to see it ; and she 
knew that if this sacrifice availed not, ere another 
moon had waxed and waned, then would the dark 
Arch-Druid cry aloud for human victims; even as 
on the fateful night when Britric her son had come 
into mortal life, when the Druids, reading woe and 
menace in the stars, had striven by sacrifice to win 
the favor of the Gods. In the very moment while 


SUSPENSE 


5 


the Queen was lying helpless and unconscious, the 
sacrificial knife had been put into the King’s own 
hand. 

“Strike,” had the terrible Arch-Druid thundered, 
“else thou shalt have on thy soul the death of thy 
Queen and the destruction of thine offspring; for 
the Gods disdain and hate the soul that faints and 
falters.” 

And the King, — who never paled in battle nor 
feared the javelins and chariots of ruthless foemen, 
— paled in disgust, and an involuntary sharp re- 
morse, as he stabbed to the heart the victim chosen 
by the great Arch-Druid whose word no man might 
dare to question. 

Eighteen years agone was that night; and for 
eighteen years had the Gods sent riches, victory, 
glory, and all that the heart of the King desired. 

But the Queen grieved in silence for the innocent 
blood which flowed on the altar in the very hour 
she had given birth to the son she dedicated secretly 
to the Loving God. 

Not even to the King had she revealed her sad- 
ness; for she knew that in his fear for her and for 
the child he would have slain many, if thereby 


6 


THE VALIANT HEART 


the Druids said her life could be prolonged and 
the child’s safety guarded by the Gods. 

Were not the Druids ministers of the Gods? Did 
they not claim the power of the Gods to bless, to 
curse, to loose and to bind, not only on earth but 
in the underworld of darkness? 

She alone of all who listened to their stem pro- 
nouncements, inly rebelled ; and prayed to the Com- 
passionate, the Hidden One, the beautiful Unknown 
God, to free the land, and rule it through mercy, 
not sacrifice. 

But never even to her son had the Queen revealed 
the thoughts of her heart. And now she felt the 
hour of Fate approaching. 

As the sun sank in a flaming ball and the sky 
darkened, the shadow of coming desolation entered 
her very soul. 

And once again there seemed to stand at her 
side the Evil Spirit with the smoldering eyes, those 
eyes of hate and jealousy and scorn; a scorn the 
more relentless because the scorner knew himself 
degraded, felt himself so vile. 

And the Queen prayed, “God of Love, desert me 
not.” 


CHAPTER II 


SORROW 

A V WINDSWEPT was the moor, and bloodstained; 

T ’ and the birds of prey were gathering for their 
banquet, while a fog swirled up from the sea, mock- 
ing the thirst of the dying. 

And over the heather, stumbling and faltering, 
bleeding and faint and weary, four faithful spear- 
men of the Guard carried the broken body of King 
Britric, pierced with a score of wounds and mor- 
tally smitten. 

“Retreat; but fear not! We will return!” the 
King had said in the instant when he tottered and 
fell like a giant oak the lightning has blasted. 

Fain would he have fought to the last, and have 
fallen with his slaughtered foes around him. But 
so deep his wounds that no longer could his limbs 
support him; and very frightful would it have been 
to him to be made captive. Never would he give 
up his sword to mortal man! So he had bidden 
7 


8 


THE VALIANT HEART 


his trusty spearmen carry him away, while the 
Captain-in-Chief led the troops, retreating. And 
even as they retreated, their arrows hissed defiance 
as they shouted a scornful farewell to their 
pursuers. 

Defeated were Britric’s men, but not yet con- 
quered. And the King, his eyes dim and his 
throat parched, struggled to speak and keep up the 
hopes of his soldiers. 

“Well have ye fought,” he said, “nor are ye 
shamed this day, for their numbers were twice our 
own. But not yet is the conflict ended. Back will 
we march some nine moons hence, in the season 
they think themselves securest.” 

Gasping he spoke, and his voice sounded in his 
own ears like a far-away roaring of waves and 
tempests. Full well he knew that for him there 
would be no more fighting. Yet he trusted Britric 
his son would avenge him. 

In his hand he gripped his sword-hilt; but the 
blade was broken. And despite his valiant words 
and resolute spirit his heart sank with foreboding. 
Many prayers and sacrifices had the Druids made 
to buy the favor of the Gods! So when the King 


SORROW 


9 


returned defeated, darkly would the Druids scowl, 
and cast all the blame upon the warriors ! 

The King groaned; and the spearmen deemed the 
pain of his wounds tormented him. But never yet 
had King Britric moaned over torment of body ; the 
groaning was wrung from the depths of his soul. 

Who would protect his Queen and aid his son, his 
only son, when he had perished? 

Death he had looked in the face a hundred times; 
nor feared he to die. But for his Queen and his 
people he feared, if he must leave them unpro- 
tected. A warrior had Britric been from his boy- 
hood ; nor had he thought to purchase victory with- 
out valor, nor renown without dire hardship. The 
Gods give power and fame at a price, and none 
may escape the payment. 

Mighty of thew and sinew, tall and vigorous and 
gallant, true to his friends and just to his foes, such 
was King Britric. Not subtle of brain, nor crafty; 
nor ever had he been luxurious. Not the roughest 
spearman fared harder than the King in warfare, 
for he asked of the humblest nothing he would not 
do himself. Well was he loved and served, by his 
Guards, his spearmen, and his archers ; and his two 


10 


THE VALIANT HEART 


score years and ten had given him experience how 
he might curb the headstrong and yet never chill 
their ardor. But his mind was sorely troubled for 
Britric his son, who, though hardy and strong and 
aspiring, was yet but a boy. How would he win 
obedience from the graybeards, and hold with a 
firm hand the arrogant tempestuous Captain of the 
Guard? 

Much these questionings tormented the King, 
while the spearmen, with lurching steps, carried 
him over the moor; and the fog swirled thicker and 
thicker around them. 

The spearmen halted; and the archers behind 
them halted. 

Exhausted, bewildered, they knew not how far 
they had come. The mist was in their eyes and 
their throats. Easier might they have found their 
way at midnight! Verily it was as if a drowsy 
spell breathed silently through the fog. A stupor 
came upon the men, and they murmured hoarsely, 

“The King is dying; we are lost without our 
leader.” 


SORROW 


11 


But the King opened his eyes; “Never shall ye 
be without a leader. Be faithful to Britric my son, 
even as ye have been to me.” 

As he spoke the wind awakened, and came blow- 
ing from over the mountains; and it fought with 
the fog from the sea, as if the spirits of the sea 
and the mountains clashed in a mortal conflict. 

The weary spearmen laid the King on the ground ; 
for a while they could carry him no further. 

Britric gripped his broken sword and held it 
aloft, with a hand still powerful though ice-cold 
from the fog and wind and the chill of approaching 
death. 

“Never shall valor be in vain,” he said. 

And even as he spoke the heavy clouds rolled 
away, and shafts of sunlight smote through the fog 
and dispelled it. 

“See,” said the King, “an omen! A promise of 
victory.” 

Then the spearmen lifted him up again, on the 
litter they had made with their javelins and shields 
and cloaks; and they saw they had come farther 
than they knew. Within two leagues of home were 


12 


THE VALIANT HEART 


they. But their hearts were heavy and despair- 
ing; for Britric’s eyes had closed, and they dreaded 
lest he swoon to death ere sunset. 

Red was the sunset, after a day when all the ele- 
ments had seemed let loose in warring wildness. 

As a ball of fire the sun sank below the sea, 
while the Queen was watching and waiting. 

And the afterglow of rose and gold paled into 
gray and purple. 

Then came dusk and gathering gloom. 

Through the dusk stumbled the battle-worn spear- 
men; and with them the archers; and in the rear, 
a league behind them, the Chief Captain of the 
Guard, with the remnants of the routed army. 

And as the Queen waited and listened, she heard 
the tramp of feet, not brisk and rhythmic, but 
dragging and irregular. 

From her tower she descended; and into the 
great hall where her Lord the King was wont to 
banquet. 

Heavy and heavier was the gloom; not yet were 
torches lit in readiness for the King’s home-coming. 


SORROW 


13 


Up the center of the hall marched the spear- 
men, carrying their burden; and they laid it at 
the Queen’s feet, as she stood motionless and silent 
on the dais. 

Not a word did they speak, but gently they drew 
back the cloaks that covered the King’s body. 

On her knees fell the Queen; and with trem- 
bling hands she clasped the King’s hands as she 
spoke to him tenderest words of endearment. 

But there came no answer; save only such a hush 
and stillness that the spearmen bent their heads 
in awe, and waited and listened, but knew not for 
what they listened. 

Tears dimmed their stern eyes. Nevermore 
would Britric lead them to battle. Nevermore 
would the notes of his horn ring out through the 
woodland. 

Very majestic his face in death; very martial and 
regal his body, pierced with many wounds. 

The spearmen stood in silence, waiting till the 
Queen should dismiss them. But the hush deep- 
ened ; yet the Queen did not speak even one word. 

And the dusk waned to darkness. 

Suddenly there flashed a torch in the doorway; 


14 


THE VALIANT HEART 


and its light flickered on the fair and eager face 
of Britric the Young. 

Nought knew he of the blow that had befallen 
him, until the voices of the spearmen came through 
the hush: 

“The King is dead! Hail to thee, Britric our 
King!” 


CHAPTER III 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 

TT was the hour before midnight. 

In the dark lay the stricken Queen, wide- 
eyed, and tearless in her sorrow. 

Bitter cold was the night; and the storm-wind 
blew across the bay in furious gusts. In its roar 
there seemed a menace of relentless hatred. As 
though demons were riding exultant on the tempest, 
shrieked the blast that beat on the King’s fortress. 

Young Britric too was sleepless; for he foresaw, 
dimly yet surely, that great pain and little joy 
awaited him. His boyhood ended for ever in the 
moment the spearmen had saluted him as King; 
and now, face to face with the loneliness of king- 
ship, already the burden pressed heavily upon his 
spirit. 

Yet why should he deem himself alone, when his 
Mother, Queen in name and Queen in nature, would 

15 


16 


THE VALIANT HEART 


still be the inspiration of his life, — she to whose 
rare wisdom, patience, gracious dignity and tender 
love he owed so much? 

Thus he mused and pondered; and, musing, fell 
asleep. 

But the Queen lay wakeful yet; and her sorrow 
was less grievous for her husband — who had lived 
and loved and fought and reigned, and whose trou- 
bles were over — than for her son, whose troubles 
were yet to come; troubles which he must face 
unaided. 

Twelve moons had passed since a slow and wast- 
ing illness had fastened its grip upon the Queen; 
and though for her husband’s sake she had fought 
it with all the resolution of a will which love made 
stronger than steel or iron, yet its pitiless secret 
inroads sapped her strong vitality, though her spirit 
never flinched nor wavered. 

When first she had been stricken with these pains, 
the Druids had held consultation round her; and 
with prayer and chanting and much sacred cere- 
mony the healing rites had been performed. 

But the Queen had only sickened the more. 

Whereon the Arch-Druid’s voice grew harsh and 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 17 

his brow overcast, and he declared in the hearing 
of many that the Queen was tortured by a demon. 

With his wand he touched her brow, her breast, 
her hands; and in a resonant voice he uttered words 
of command, 

“Demon accursed; to the Black Abyss thou shalt 
return. In the name of the High Gods I bid thee 
depart and be enchained for ever.” 

Yet was the Queen not healed. Rather she grew 
each day more pale, and the threads of gray 
showed in her hair, and around her bright eyes 
came fine-drawn marks of pain. 

Then was the Arch-Druid yet more angered and 
affronted; and to ■the King he said, 

“Were not thy Queen a sinner, she had been 
made whole this day. Never does my healing fail 
with the righteous, for have I not the powers of 
the Gods working through my fingers and my sacred 
wand?” 

Then the King had answered rebukingly, 

“As a spirit from the skies is my Queen; never 
did I hear from her a word that I would fain not 
hear. Never have her love and wisdom failed me.” 

But the Druid frowned and said, “In the name of 


18 


THE VALIANT HEART 


the Most High Gods I pronounced her healed. If 
healed she be not, then in her own soul must be 
the secret evil.” 

Very furious was the King to hear his wife thus 
scorned by the all-potent one; but while the Druid 
hurled forth these angry words of calumny, the 
Queen looked at her accuser with steadfast eyes, 
the light of which no pain could quench. And the 
eyes of the Druid wavered and fell. 

Without more speech he turned and withdrew; 
and his face was hard as granite. 

With rage and grief did the King tremble; he 
who never had trembled from fear. 

“Cursed be these priests,” he said. “How can 
the Gods work through hearts black with jealousy 
and hatred? But if love can heal, my love shall 
make thee whole.” 

Then the Queen’s eyes brimmed over with tears, 
and her pain of body grieved her the less; so 
much greater her joy to see that not even the Arch- 
Druid could cast a shadow over the King’s un- 
changing love. 

In her husband’s arms she rested, and strove to 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 19 

think how best she might defend herself from the 
malice of the Druids. 

“My heart’s Love,” she said, “brave must I be 
to endure and conceal this pain. To-morrow shall 
I be robed in my mantle of state, and with the 
circlet of gems on my brow I will ride forth at thy 
side and show myself to the people. And though 
the pain tear and rend me, yet must my courage 
never falter; for if the Druids see me suffer, they 
will curse me as possessed by evil spirits. Then 
will they drag me from thine arms, and shut me 
away, and dethrone thee if thou darest to defy 
them.” 

With a tempest of wrath was the King shaken, 
and under his breath he said, “Too truly dost thou 
speak. Slaves are we to these Druids. If I de- 
fied this pitiless Arch-Tyrant, he would tell me I 
am but King and a rude warrior, while he is chosen 
of the Gods! So, my Queen, wise would it be to 
dissemble. And perchance a merciful God will 
bring thee in secret the healing our pretended friend 
and secret adversary hates us too bitterly to 
give.” 


20 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Twelve moons agone had this befallen; and the 
Queen’s life from that day had been a martyr- 
dom. When, in the presence of the people, she 
gave thanks to the Gods for the Arch-Druid’s 
miracle of healing, so sharp were her pains that 
the dew of anguish sprinkled her brow, and her 
limbs trembled. But she held her head 
erect; and so queenly and noble her bearing, so 
steadfast her eyes, so gracious her smile, that none 
save only her King, her loyal lover, could know 
what she endured. 

Very strong her frame, and very resolute her 
courage; and although thenceforth she suffered 
many tortures in her body, yet still the flame of her 
mind and spirit burned clear and pure with the light 
of immutable valor. 

Even from Britric her son she concealed all her 
pangs; and to his Mother he looked as to a rock 
of strength, as to a star at midnight, as to the sun- 
light at noon. And never did she fail or disap- 
point him. 

Morning dawned gray and gloomy after a night 
of furious storm. The shrieking voice of the wind 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 21 

was lowered to a sobbing moan; and the waves 
ceased their loud roaring, and lapped on the shore, 
sullenly, wearily. 

The Queen-Mother lay in her bed and listened 
to the waves and the wind. Certain it was that 
never with mortal eyes might she greet another 
morning. For her power to endure had been 
strained at last to breaking. 

Right glad would she be to follow her husband; 
but very deep her sorrow to leave Britric her 
son. 

All through the night she pondered how best she 
might warn the young King of the perils that be- 
set him. 

Open and free and frank, even as his Father 
before him, evil he saw not till it had been un- 
masked. So ardent was he for the good and the 
noble, that in his presence the jealous feigned 
generosity, the envious strove to seem willing and 
eager to admire and to praise their betters, and the 
liars made a cunning semblance of pure zeal as 
champions for the truth. 

Very dark and crushing the Queen’s fears for 
Britric; she knew that he was born for greatness. 


22 


THE VALIANT HEART 


and that greatness must needs be lonely in a world 
of littleness, and love be persecuted in a world of 
hatred. 

Stretching out her wasted hand, she touched a 
bell of silver, and at its sound her maidens all 
gathered about her. 

“Summon hither the King,” she said. 

And even as she spoke, she lifted up her eyes 
and beheld young Britric in the doorway. 

With a sign she bade her maidens leave her. 
Then the King came in, and knelt at her side; and, 
of a sudden, her paleness smote him with terror and 
foreboding. 

He bowed his head; and very tenderly she 
stroked and caressed his brown-gold hair. 

“Listen,” she said, “for the time is short before 
I must go from thee.” 

Then Britric quivered as if an arrow pierced 
him: “Not yet, not yet!” he supplicated. “Cruel 
are the Gods if they rend thee away.” 

The Queen’s eyes shone with a beautiful rad- 
iance; 

“Not the cruel Gods, but the Unknown God of 
Love and glorious compassion shalt thou trust; 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 23 

the God of whom I have dreamed; the God who 
would have mercy and not sacrifice ; for his divine 
majesty can stoop to pity all the griefs of mortals, 
to pity, heal and comfort.” 

Britric’s eyes opened wide in astonishment; how 
should his Mother know a God unknown of the all- 
wise Druids? 

“Ere thou wast born,” she said, “to the Unknown 
God I prayed that thou, my son, shouldst be fired 
and inspired of Him, and filled with his love and 
mercy. Very cruel this world; and as strangers 
and exiles on earth did thy Father and I live, and 
strive to live justly. But now is our service ended; 
and now thine must begin.” 

“But what may I do for the Hidden God?” asked 
Britric. 

“Remember and say to thyself, ‘God, the Un- 
known, the Eternal, is nobler than the noblest man, 
and gentler than the tenderest woman. The brave, 
the loving and the true are children of His Spirit * 
But the world knows Him not. Sacrifices, and the 
prayers of men are offered rather to God’s ad- 
versaries, the angry demons, thirsting for blood 
and tears, and hungering for victims. In the very 


24 THE VALIANT HEART 

hour of thy birth, human blood flowed on the 
altar.” 

No words had Britric to answer; and his 
Mother’s voice sank lower while her eyes shone 
the more brightly, as with a light from the God of 
her secret dreams. 

“Be pitiful to helpless women, my child,” she 
said. “Very miserable their fate. Have mercy 
even towards the humblest. Deeply hast thou 
loved me; and thou wilt be ever loyal and con- 
stant. Never will my love be quenched; as a cir- 
cle of light shall it shine around thee, though un- 
seen of mortal eyes.” 

Dim were the eyes of Britric with tears which 
were burning like fire. In the grip of Fate was 
he held; and his blood was icy, for he felt the 
Messenger of Death approaching. And he knew 
not that the Messenger, who to him seemed cruel, 
came to the Queen in gladness, even to say and 
declare, 

“Lo, the Immortal God of Love, Whom thou 
hast served, recalls thee to Himself; and the hour 
of thy healing dawns.” 

Suddenly it seemed as if a new strength entered 


THE UNQUENCHABLE HOPE 25 

into the Queen-Mother. In her bed she raised 
herself; and upright she sat; and so happy and 
serene her face that Britric believed the shadow 
of death had passed away, and he feared for her 
no longer. 

Then the Queen stretched out her arms, and cried, 

“My King, I come!” 

Her voice quivered with an ecstasy that pierced 
the soul of Britric. 

Then did her eyelids droop as in sleep; and she 
fell back, and lay unseeing and unknowing of his 
sorrow. 

And in her sleep her valiant soul passed away 
from her pain-racked body; and at last the Queen 
was free. 

Nor had she wakened to say one word more of 
farewell to her grieving son. And much did he 
ponder and wonder whether the King she had 
saluted was the mortal King her husband, or the 
great Unknown God. 

Longwhile he gazed on her body after the soul 
had fled from it; and lo, her brow was young and 
smooth, for all the lines of sadness were wiped 
away. 


26 THE VALIANT HEART 

Then into his heart there descended such dark 
loneliness that his joy seemed quenched for ever. 

But he gripped his sword-hilt with a resolute 
hand, for he knew there were enemies within and 
without, and that his Father’s foemen would soon be 
gathering anew to ravage and invade his kingdom. 
So must Britric master his grief and hide it, and 
hold his head erect. For was he not the King? 


* 


PART TWO 


4 


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CHAPTER IV 


THE CONQUEROR 

TT was a stormy day in autumn, some fourteen 
moons after the death of the Queen-Mother. 
Britric was yet unwed, though the Druids had 
spoken in council and put forth the names of two 
royal maidens, either of whom, would bring gold to 
his coffers. But the young King had answered, 
“First would I repel my Father’s foes, and deliver 
my kingdom from peril, ere I don the robes of a 
bridegroom and sun myself in the smiles of a fair 
woman.” 

Then had the Druids frowned. The King was 
but a boy in years, and they thought to rule him 
even as the skilled rider rules the spirited horse. 
But Britric baffled them. All through the kingdom 
he traveled, till there was no hind nor shepherd 
who did not know his face. And every day from 

early morning till high noon, open and easy of ac- 
29 


30 


THE VALIANT HEART 


cess was the King, so that the humblest could tell 
him their troubles and say who had oppressed 
them and wherefore they were ill-contented. And 
the fame of his mercy and justice, his strength and 
his compassion, spread from north to south and 
east to west; and all men honored him, and women 
revered him. 

In him the people put their trust. And though 
they brought sacrifices of rams and bulls and 
heifers to the altars of the druids, yet to the King’s 
wisdom they looked, and in the King’s face they 
sought comfort. 

Then Britric was glad, for he deemed that the 
spirit of his mother guided him, and that she was 
more happy since death than she had been in her 
earthly life. 

The night his mother died, Britric had looked 
deep into the eyes of sorrow. But in a valiant 
spirit sorrow breeds strength, and the pang of 
loneliness goads the heroic heart to gallant deeds 
in honor of the loved one. So Britric rallied the 
routed troops, and called to his banner the vigorous 
hinds and the sturdy shepherds, and with a fiery 
patience he taught them the use of javelin and bow 


31 


THE CONQUEROR 

and axe, till they were able and fit to serve by the 
side of the practiced warriors. 

Then had he sent out spies to discover the schem- 
ings of the enemy; and on the eve of the foemen’s 
planned invasion he, Britric, took the adversary by 
surprise, and fought and won a mighty battle. 

Then did the enemy, who erstwhile scorned him 
as a boy, respect him as a man. 

And Britric returned in triumph, to be received 
with joy and acclamation. 

Then the Druids said unto the people, “Lo, by 
our potent prayers and sacrifices have we won the 
victory. But for our wisdom and our favor with 
the Gods, the sword in the King’s hand had availed 
him little.” 

But the women said among themselves, “Did not 
the Wise Ones offer many sacrifices on the day the 
old King was defeated and our sons were slaught- 
ered? Not the prayers of the long-robed, but the 
strong arm of the warrior keeps us safe here in 
our homesteads. But for young Britric, we had 
been raided by the foe, and our roof-trees burned, 
and our daughters carried away into slavery! 
Long life to Britric our King!” 


32 


THE VALIANT HEART 


But they spake in whispers, for they feared the 
anger of the Druids. 

Very joyous was Britric the morning after he 
came home a conqueror. He rode forth into the 
open, where he had proclaimed the spoils of war 
should be divided in full view of all the multitude. 

Into the sunshine his chair of state was carried; 
and beneath a spreading oak it was placed. And 
around him in a half circle stood his Captains of 
the Guard and all those who were leaders each of 
three hundred. 

Much booty had his soldiers won in the fight; 
weapons of bronze and iron, steel-headed spears, 
targets of hide, mantles of fur, and brooches and 
collars of gold. 

At the foot of the King’s chair they heaped the 
spoils, keeping back nothing. And at the King’s 
word the wealth was divided, so that to every sol- 
dier was a trophy, and the most to the most valiant. 

To the Druids nought was allotted ; and for him- 
self Britric kept nothing, save only an arrow-head 
in memory of the fight. The collars of gold and 


THE CONQUEROR 33 

mantles of fur he gave to his Chief Captains, and 
the other spoils to each according to their fitness. 

When the weapons and the gold, the apparel and 
the grain, had been apportioned, there smote on the 
King’s ear a sound of bitter sobbing, as some two- 
score captive women were led into his presence, 
bound with thongs and tied one to another even 
as slaves. 

“Will the King distribute these?” said the Chief 
Captain. “Her of the rose-red lips and the slum- 
brous eyes I would take for myself.” 

But the King’s young face grew stem, and he 
answered in a strong voice which was heard by all 
around him, 

“Not against women do I war. Unbind them 
and set them free.” , 

Then the brow of the Chief Captain grew black 
as thunder. 

Very tall was he, taller than the King; and re- 
nowned for his mighty arm ere ever Britric was 
bom. But as he hesitated and scowled, the King 
stepped down from his chair of state, and with his 


34 


THE VALIANT HEART 


own gold-hilted dagger he cut the thongs. And to 
the women he courteously said, “No ransom do I 
ask. To your homes shall ye return. Long and 
rough the way; therefore a trusty escort shall pro- 
tect you from the wild beasts and from chance 
marauders. The Gods be with you.” 

The women gazed on him dumbfounded. Never 
had they heard of a King who sent back prisoners 
of war unransomed. And his army marvelled. 

But there was one among the captives who had 
no desire to return to her own home. 

At the King’s feet she flung herself, and in a 
voice exquisitely sweet and plaintive she pleaded, 

“Send me not back, 0 King; for my father was 
slain in the wars long since, and very lonely and 
desolate am I ! Of mine own flesh and blood there 
is none living to cherish me.” 

And the King raised her up and said, “What 
wouldst thou?” 

Very pale was she, and the tears on her face 
were even as dewdrops on a trembling wind-flower. 
Dark were her eyes, and heavy and thick her lashes; 
but rosy her lips; and her voice was as music. 

And the King’s heart was touched with pity for 


35 


THE CONQUEROR 

her as she gazed up adoringly into his face and said, 
“0, mercy, Great One, mercy on the desolate!” 

Then did the Chief Captain lay a heavy hand 
upon her shoulder. 

“I will take her,” he said. “Not noble her race, 
nor fit is she to attend on the King. An outcast 
she is, the daughter of an outcast; for though her 
father was renowned among our foemen, her mother 
was but base-born, a poor Phoenician slave. So 
claiming this woman for my prize I claim of thee 
a trifling bauble. But I yield up a collar of gems 
in payment, 0 Britric, for I fain would have this 
maiden.” 

Then the girl flung herself again at Britric’s 
feet and said, “Rather slay me with thine own hand, 
great King, than give me to this black-browed one, 
whose very glance chills me with terror.” 

The Chief Captain smiled grimly, and to Britric 
he whispered, “Very young and simple art thou, 
0 King, to heed a cunning woman’s feigned dis- 
tress. She makes display of grief and trembling; 
but ’tis nought, ’tis nought! She will love me the 
better in that she fears me.” 

But the King waved aside the collar of gems; 


36 


THE VALIANT HEART 


and in his clear ringing voice he answered, “This 
captive maiden asks my mercy and protection. 
Had she loved thee, I never had gainsaid thy taking 
her. But to give her to thee when she fears thee 
would be cruel and ignoble.” 

“Cruel!” echoed the Chief Captain, and his 
scornful laugh was as the lash of a whip. 

Shuddering the maiden crouched at the feet of 
the King and gazed up at him as at the God in 
whose hands lay life or death. 

Then from the crowd around him did the King 
summon by name a gray-haired woman who had 
been a servant in the household of his mother. 

“Take thou this maiden,” he said, “and cherish 
her with thy daughters, even as thou wouldst have 
thy youngest daughter cherished. Well will I re- 
quite thee.” 

The woman paled; and in fear she bowed her 
head. Nor was it the King she feared, but the 
Chief Captain, whose eyes were on the maiden as 
the eyes of a hawk waiting to pounce on a trem- 
bling dove. 

And the maiden shrank from the fierce eyes, and 
shivered and drew her mantle closer round her. 


THE CONQUEROR 37 

Then she gazed upon the King, yearningly, 
beseechingly. 

But Britric was speaking with his men and 
noticed her no longer. 

And at this her tears flowed freshly; and she 
sobbed as she was led away. 


CHAPTER V 


LONELINESS 

TV7HEN Britric distributed the spoil, and the sol- 
’ ’ diers cried “Hail to the King!,” it came upon 
him to wonder if in all the hosts of those who 
gladly obeyed him while he led them to victory, 
were there any who would be true to him in grief 
or sickness or disaster? 

Then he inwardly chided himself for what ap- 
peared a gloomy and unjust suspicion. But the 
shadow of loneliness had closed around him while 
his men were yet acclaiming him with joyous 
shoutings. (Who shall declare whence come the 
silent voices whispering even in the hour of de- 
light and adulation, “This too shall pass away!”). 

As Britric stood so that the throng might better 
see him, even as he responded to their saluta- 
tions, it was as though his spirit were carried far 
into the future; and there in the distance waited 
a mass of people, whose faces, sullen, lowering, 

38 


LONELINESS 


39 


fearful and angry, hostile and menacing, were elo- 
quent of all those base and muddy passions Britric 
had prayed the Unknown God to stamp out of his 
people’s hearts. 

Swiftly the vision paled; ere the acclamations 
died away it had vanished. Yet the cries of “Hail 
to the King!” sounded to Britric’s ears like the 
howling of a storm. 

Of his haunting premonition his face gave never 
a sign. His mother had trained him in the royal 
virtues, self-command, self -conquest. “He who is 
born to be a leader of men not only may not show 
his fear or dread, if fear oppress him. He must 
drive out of his heart even the shadow of a fear, 
lest it fly and reach the hearts of others.” So 
had she spoken. Therefore when the gloom came 
upon Britric, — and suddenly like a thief or an 
assassin it was wont to come, — he wrestled with 
it, sternly overcame it; and then felt afterwards 
the stronger for the conflict. 

Many days after his home-coming the gloom 
pursued him. The west wind murmuring in the 
branches, the wavelets lapping on the sea-shore, the 
voices of the song-birds in the thickets, the hoot 


40 


THE VALIANT HEART 


of the owl at twilight, all seemed to be crying 
“Beware, beware, beware.” 

In his outward bearing, he was ever the same 
and consistent, strong and strenuous and courteous, 
and seemingly calm and contented; but an inward 
bewilderment assailed him, a dim vague sense that 
the evils in the world were so deep-rooted that for 
one man alone to strive to pull them up and tread 
them underfoot was nigh to madness, or was a task 
rather for a God than a mere mortal. Yet how 
should the Gods themselves cleanse and redeem 
this earth unless mankind stood ready to strive 
and toil for them, even as gallant soldiers stand 
waiting to obey a trusted leader? The Gods are 
the Captains, and men the warriors answering to 
the orders of the Great Ones; and the Unknown 
God, the secret God veiled in silence and mystery, 
He is King of Kings, and yet to be the Conqueror. 

Since the dawn of Time the warfare of evil 
against good has waged unceasingly without a 
truce or respite. 

But what is “good”? And what is “evil”? 

Surely “good” is justice and valor, noble gener- 
osity and tenderness; the courage which never flags 


LONELINESS 


41 


and the loyal love which is as sunlight. And 
“evil”? What can it be but treachery and lying, 
envious hate and coward weakness, and the tyranny 
of the cruel over the helpless? 

So mused Britric. And in his heart he knew 
that so long as his people were bent beneath the 
yoke of the Druids, so long as horrible fear was 
ruler over the land, so long must misery and 
smoldering anger, secret hate and purblind ig- 
norance, shut out the light of the dawn. 

“Has not man something divine in his soul,” he 
thought, “even reason and memory, and the discern- 
ing will to choose ’twixt good and evil? But the 
Druids give no power of choosing; nor may any 
save their own initiates ponder or think or aspire! 
As slaves are my people, slaves to priestly mut- 
terings and cloudy mysteries. But I would make 
them a race of freemen, who should serve the Gods 
for love, and not from this base terror lest the 
Druids blight them.” 

But not in all the length and breadth of his realm 
was there even one man to whom the King could 
safely have whispered the questionings and the am- 
bitions of his heart. Therefore he was lonely. 


42 


THE VALIANT HEART 


And ever it was his duty to give out hope and com- 
fort, wisdom and justice, courage and mercy. And 
all men took from him; and no man gave to him, 
save only the obedience due to a King. To Britric 
the man they proffered nought; and in the hours 
when the gloom crept into his very soul, he hun- 
gered and craved for a brother, a sister, a friend 
to whom he might speak freely as to another 
self. 

Clear was his brain, and he knew that of all 
around him, even among the Captains of his Guard, 
there were none who could be brethren to his spirit, 
none to whom he might reveal himself without that 
veil which wise Kings lift not. 

In burdens and responsibilities the King must 
carry the weight of the whole multitude; he must 
be more than man. Never must he show his weari- 
ness, nor fail in patience; nor stumble beneath the 
weight of care. 

It was a day of sunshine and shower in the blos- 
soming spring-time. The King had heard the 
claims of those who thought themselves oppressed; 
he had done justice to the helpless, and curbed the 


LONELINESS 


43 


power of the strong, controlling the unruly and ad- 
monishing the lazy. 

Then had he eaten at the feast with his Chief 
Captains; and attended a grim council of the 
Druids. And he had mustered his bowmen and 
spearmen; each day he inspected them in person; 
and now the hour had come when he might wander 
alone into the forest. 

In council the Arch-Druid had again rebuked 
him in that he was yet unwed. But while the 
Druids in chorus echoed their High Priest and 
urged the King to marriage, certain was Britric that 
a princess of their choosing would be put into his 
arms but as a spy of these most potent masters, 
tyrants who in the name of the High Gods had ar- 
rogated to themselves the power to dictate to every 
creature in the realm, beginning with the King. 

Resolutely Britric had responded, “Reverend and 
grave ones, very humbly I defer to your learning 
in the lore of the sun and moon and the mystic 
stars; and in the secrets of the Gods ye tell me ye 
are each one initiate! But for the choosing of a 
Queen, content am I to trust mine own heart’s 
counsel.” 


44 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Then had the Arch-Druid looked into the King’s 
eyes, and with a steady stare and falsely smiling 
lips he had said, “Very foolish wilt thou be, 0 
Britric, son of Britric, if in a woman thou seekest 
peace for thy heart and soul. Leave dreams to 
poets; leave the care of souls to the wise and holy. 
Choose rather a woman for the strength and beauty 
of her body, that she may bring thee stalwart heirs. 
A wise King should breed many children, lest by 
war or sickness his line might perish in a single 
day if it rest on one life only!” 

Then Britric — who knew it had been whispered 
as a reproach against his mother that she bore none 
but him, — paled in his anger, for beneath the 
Druid’s words he felt (though not yet could he 
wholly fathom) a sinister and hidden meaning. 

As he walked alone in the woodland, the King 
mused uneasily, trying to find a clew to the laby- 
rinth of treason closing invisibly around him. 

Gaily the song-birds chirruped, and the breeze 
was fresh and fragrant; but Eritric sighed, for the 
beauty of the day made him feel himself even 
more lonely. The woman he could endure to wed 


LONELINESS • 


45 


should be one who might love him for love’s sake, 
not only because he was the King and could give 
her much gold and gear. For love and tenderness 
he would choose her. Yet must she be of a queenly 
spirit, starry and noble as his mother whom never 
yet he had ceased to mourn. 

But where could he find a woman he could trust 
as his own soul? 

As he walked and mused, there mingled with the 
fluttering of the wings of birds, and with the sigh- 
ing of the west wind in the tree-tops, a gentle sob- 
bing sound, not passionate nor angry, but very soft 
and piteous. 

Britric stood still and listened, and waited; 
though for what he waited he could not have told. 
The sobbing seemed but as an echo in a dream. 

Very heavy the oppression on his spirit; for he 
knew he must wed, and yet he shrank with loath- 
ing from the thought of taking to his arms a woman 
chosen of the Druids. 

Wearily he bowed his head in a prayer to the 
Gods to grant him patience and wisdom; and while 
he prayed he thought there was none to see him. 
Little did he divine that there was one who watched 


46 


THE VALIANT HEART 


and waited, devouring him with passionate eyes. 

Longwhile was his head lowered in prayer; and 
when he raised it, from between the ancient tree- 
trunks there glided a young maiden. 

Dewy her eyes with tears; very pale her face, 
with a pallor as of a snowy blossom. But rose- 
red her lips; and so enchanting her smile that the 
King looked on her in silence, having no words to 
greet her, so strangely sweet was she. 

As the spirit of the Spring she appeared, with 
witching smile and tear-brimming eyes; yea, even 
as Life itself, in which joy and sorrow are twins 
who seldom for long can be parted. 

As the King gazed on her, so did she gaze back 
on him, speechless, ecstatic. 

Then with a tremulous cry she flung herself on 
the ground at his feet; and her voice thrilled him 
like magical music as she murmured, “Now can I 
thank thee. Great One, for thy mercy to the hum- 
blest of thy handmaidens.” 

Not till this moment did he see her as the woman 
he had saved from the lust of his Chief Captain. 

Very gently he raised her. 

“Art thou happy, my child?” he said; for she 


LONELINESS 47 

seemed to him but as an infant, so tender, so young, 
so helpless. 

“Happy? Yea, my Lord and Master; now I 
once more have seen thee, now I have poured out 
my gratitude at thy feet, truly am I happy.” 

And again her voice sounded as music. 

To a fallen tree he led her, and bade her be 
seated and tell him whether she dwelt at peace 
with those to whom he consigned her. 

The maiden clasped her hands; white hands and 
beautiful they were, though her mother had been 
but a slave. 

“Very greatly do I bless the hour I was carried 
away a captive,” she breathed, scarcely above a 
whisper; “for had I not been taken by thy spear- 
men, never had I won thy generous compassion, 0 
most glorious King; so had my life been gray and 
empty! But now, come life, come death, Gisela 
has been blessed, in that she has known thy 
justice.” 

She gazed up at him worshipingly, as he stood 
leaning against a venerable oak tree. 

And as her. eyes were upturned to his, in a rap- 
ture she concealed not, neither sought to veil, it 


48 


THE VALIANT HEART 


seemed to the King that at last he had discovered 
a beautiful transparent soul in which was only 
frankness, openness, and never a shadow of deceit 
or of contriving. 

Very young was the King; and never yet had 
he seen the woman he desired; but his heart now 
was stirred with pity for this maiden. 

Her sire a warrior from beyond the mountains, 
and her mother a Phoenician slave, there ran in her 
veins the conflicting instincts of command and of 
servitude ; and in her soul the passions of two races 
would wage inner warfare. So mused Britric. 

“Art thou wise to walk alone in the forest,” he 
said, “one so young and so fair? Beauty provok- 
eth thieves sooner than gold.” 

Of the Chief Captain he was thinking as he 
spoke. 

But the maiden smiled. 

“Nay,” she said, “in thy domain, 0 King, no 
man would dare molest me. Have they not seen 
thy justice? Did they not hear thee grant me thy 
royal protection? And who in the realm would 
dare to disobey thee?” 

Then, before the King spoke even one word in 


LONELINESS 


49 


answer, she bent down and embraced his feet; and, 
like a spirit of the forest, glided away into the 
shadows; as a vision or a dream or a delusion. 
Even thus, she vanished. 


CHAPTER VI 


FATALITY 

r I 'WO score and ten years of age was the Chief 
■*" Captain; Captain of the Guard had he been to 
Britric’s Father; and he had fought in many a stub- 
born conflict ere ever Britric was born. Very 
angrily he chafed in his heart that young Britric 
claimed the power to debar him from the woman 
whose languorous grace had captured his fancy. 

The woman was only a woman, and one of many; 
and folly would it be to quarrel with Britric for 
the sake of a slave’s daughter. But the Captain 
of the Guard was little wont to be crossed in his 
desires; and this woman, whom he would have flung 
aside after a seven-night had he possessed her, he 
coveted hotly now, because denied his will. 

So after a while the thought came to him that - 
he would take her by stealth, and carry her away 
and conceal her. 

He set his spies to watch her movements, and 
50 


FATALITY 


51 


they told him when the day was fine she walked 
alone in the forest the hour before sunset. 

Into the forest he went, and there he waited. 

And when Gisela reached her accustomed place, 
where three ancient ash trees intertwined long 
drooping branches and made her a leafy canopy, 
ere she knew her danger she was gripped in the 
iron arms of the Chief Captain. 

Then terror mastered her. For she had shrunk 
from him at first sight, as a song-bird recoils from 
the serpent, as the doe shrinks from the hound. 

And now in a pitiless grip he held her. 

So overcome was she with loathing that the 
beauty of her face was overshadowed, and her eyes 
lost all their sweet enchantment. Like a trapped 
wild thing of the woods she seemed. 

Her captor held her at arms’-length, and looked 
at her with a gaze which disdained her even in the 
moment that he wooed her. 

It seemed to him she was neither beautiful now 
nor worth the taking. 

The color had ebbed from her lips, her 
alluring grace had vanished; sheer terror blighted 
her. 


52 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The Chief Captain laughed; “Bah! Am I an 
ogre that thou tremblest lest I eat thee? Short 
my time for dalliance, and swift my wooing; but 
soon will I teach thee to love me; and thou shalt 
have gold and a robe of silk to repay thee.” 

But Gisela spoke no word; nor did she struggle 
nor cry out; and what thought might lurk behind 
her cloudy dull eyes and pallid face her tormentor 
had not skill to read. But he felt baffled; for her 
fears made her repellent, almost ugly. Yet his in- 
stinct of mastery goaded him to try again to win 
her. 

“Maiden,” he said, “youth is fleeting, and beauty 
the flower of a day. Already thy beauty paleth. 
When ’tis withered, no man shall desire thee, nor 
offer thee gold nor gladness. So take and give de- 
light, while yet there is time. Of thine own will 
would I have thee; for little joy can I gain of a 
woman dumb as a beast of the field, and cold as 
an image of clay! But not yet has a woman ever 
denied me. Many have vied for my favor. Of 
the King’s Guard am I Captain-in-Chief, and well 
can I reward thee for thy soft embraces. So trem- 
ble not.” 


FATALITY 


53 


Incautiously he raised his voice. Gisela’s dumb 
resistance roused him to anger. 

Mossy was the ground ; a breeze was rustling the 
leaves. The ear of the Chief Captain was muffled; 
very deeply had he drunk that day of mead and 
metheglin; and a deafness from an old wound in 
his head was troubling him. So he heard not 
what Gisela heard, a footstep. But he saw a sud- 
den light flicker in her eyes. 

Then her voice rang out, piteous, entreating, 
heart-piercing: “Have mercy! Mercy! Mercy!” 

A grip of steel closed on the right arm of the 
Captain; and turning his head furiously, his eyes 
looked into the stem bright eyes of Britric the 
King. 

Very calm was the King, as was always his wont 
when angered. 

“Dost thou not know this maiden has my prom- 
ise of protection!” he said in his clear level tones. 

The Chief Captain showed his teeth in a snarl. 
Not ready of speech was he; and for a moment 
there was silence. 

To quarrel with Britric over this woman would 
be sheer foolishness. Little was she worth a brawl; 


54 THE VALIANT HEART 

and he could take her another time more easily 
than now. 

“In many a battle had I fought when thou wert 
in thy cradle, my King,” he said reproachfully. 
“Thy Father’s right hand was I; and well do I love 
thee. Would I take from thee a woman thou de- 
sirest? Nay, most willingly I yield her; nor do I 
feel abased or humbled; for what woman living 
would not choose rather a fair young King than 
an old war-worn Captain!” 

His smile broadened to a jarring laugh, and, 
laughing again, he loosed his hands from Gisela. 

Then Britric released his arm; and without an- 
other word the tall Chief Captain turned and 
stalked away and was lost to sight. 

Gisela sank on the ground and hid her face. She 
trembled and quivered in effort to stifle her sobs. 

The King felt his heart stir with an intense com- 
passion for the wretched lot of women. In his 
youthful pity he saw men as hawks, and women 
as poor fluttering pigeons. 

When the maiden looked up at him, imploringly, 
beseechingly, her look thrilled him with pain; 
her eyes were piteous as the eyes of a heifer when 


FATALITY 


55 


the Arch Priest smites it to death on the High 
Altar with the sacrificial knife. 

Then Britric thought, “Are women and dumb 
animals to be for ever sacrificed? Shall not man’s 
justice be tempered with mercy?” 

And Gisela rose to her feet and said, “My King; 
he pitiful. There is one refuge only where the 
terrible Chief Captain dare not touch me, even 
thine own house, 0 Britric, son of Britric! Let me 
be lowest of all among thy slaves; or let me die. 
But give me not to’the Chief Captain.” 

Still the King was silent; and Gisela could not 
read his thoughts, nor did she understand why his 
face was sad. 

“Noblest of All,” she said, “very strange it 
seems that in thy glory and pride thine eyes are 
overshadowed. If thou wouldst grant me even the 
smallest corner in thy house, I could sing to thee 
to gladden thee when thou art weary; I could pray 
the Gods to bless thee without ceasing; I could 
minister to thee, worship thee, adore thee, with the 
love which asks no more than only to be near thee 
in humblest and most absolute devotion.” 

The King turned pale. Never before had any 


56 


THE VALIANT HEART 


woman dared to woo him; and it seemed the Gods 
had sent this gentle stranger to lighten his dark 
loneliness, and to heal the secret longings of his 
spirit. Surely she loved him with a deep im- 
measurable love; and could there be a gift more 
precious? 

Swiftly his decision was made; and very ten- 
derly he spoke. 

“Nay, Gisela the Captive ; no slave would I have. 
The woman who could delight me must be one my 
very soul could trust, even through life and death 
into the life beyond the stars. The brief pleas- 
ures of a fading love repel me; nor could I love 
thee for one single hour unless in my heart I felt 
I could for ever love thee.” 

From the depths of his soul came his words. 

Never before had he spoken of love to any 
maiden. 

And Gisela thought he was rejecting her; fov 
not in her wildest dreams had she hoped that he 
might wed her as his Queen. 

Yet such was the sudden resolution of his heart, 
even in the moment when it appeared to her he cast 
her sternly away and rejected her adoration. 


FATALITY 


57 


“Alas, how poor and obscure am I!” she mur- 
mured. “Oh cruel Gods! Had I been born royal, 
then could the King have loved me!” 

The misery in her voice touched Britric to the 
depths of his soul. All his pity for the helpless, 
all his latent intensity of passion, all the mingled 
fire and tenderness of his lonely heart surged up 
in waves of overpowering emotion which robbed 
him of speedh, almost of sight. Out into the open 
sea a resistless current seemed to whirl him, as if to 
sweep him away from the maiden. 

“Farewell, my King,” said Gisela, in tones of 
such resigned and hopeless desolation that Britric 
suffered a pang of agony as if his body and his 
spirit were being rent asunder. For it seemed 
as if a jealous Fate, an evil spirit of the darkness, 
was tearing him and her apart even in the very 
moment when his love dawned into consciousness. 

But Britric defied the Fates. 

With a stifled cry he gathered her into his arms: 

“My Beautiful One,” he said, “My sweet dear 
Love ; never shall the harsh world separate us. My 
protection hast thou craved; and my protection 
shalt thou have, now and for ever.” 


CHAPTER VII 


FOREBODING 

TT was a night of stars. The sea was calm. 

Bathed in the bright light of the May moon, 
the placid waters, sleeping as if beneath the spell 
of an enchanter, seemed of molten silver. 

Deep was the hush, as if the truce of the warring 
elements had touched even the restless heart of man. 
And Gisela, in a coracle alone with Britric, smiled 
and said, “How happy am I to-night. Would that 
this peace might last for ever!” 

Britric rested on his oars and leaned forward, 
gazing into her eyes. 

“My Beloved One,” he whispered, as if he feared 
to awaken some sleeping tempest, “Beloved One, 
it is not on earth we can have peace for ever. 
War and struggle and sorrow are the lot of man.” 

Gisela looked at him in perplexity. Why should 
he speak of sorrow? Why brood on memories of 
war? Was he not victorious? Were not the wars 


58 


FOREBODING 


59 


over? Why think of sacrifice and trial, on a tran- 
quil evening, when all she craved was to be happy 
with him, in the solitude which was unity, in the 
peace which was ecstasy, in the love which throbbed 
with gladness? 

“My King,” she said, in her gentle caressing 
voice, “as a star to me art thou, even as the star 
is to the glow-worm! I marvel how the star came 
to earth! Verily thy love is a sweet miracle, blend- 
ing my fitful light as of the trembling glow-worm 
with thy changeless light as from the Highest 
Heavens. Never in the world was any King and 
lover like thee; never any King so nobly strong 
and tender, so compassionate, so brave.” 

“Nay, Beautiful One,” said Britric, “not great 
nor mighty am I; nor even learned; but a war- 
rior seeking to rule justly and live valiantly. 
Could my Father’s son do less?” 

Gisela trailed her white hand in the water, and 
looked down at the sea, then up at the sky, before 
she answered; 

“I know not how men are ruled; and to me the 
name of war means only terror. But in love of 
thee, my King, I am strong and ardent. From 


60 


THE VALIANT HEART 


thee flows all my delight, my hope, my very life. 
If thou didst cast me away I would die. I live 
but in thy favor. I am all thine; and thine I will 
be while I live. Even if at last thou weariest of 
my love, yet shall I never love another. Not brave 
am I, nor wise; my only wisdom is in my heart; 
and this heart, robbed of thine image, would be but 
as a broken casket, empty and despoiled of all its 
wealth.” 

Britric’s hands gripped the oars more tightly, 
and his gray eyes sparkled. 

“My Queen,” he said in a low voice, trembling 
with the intensity of his emotion; “Never, never 
speak thus again. Thou woundest me, Beloved, 
when thou dreamest I could weary of thee. Never 
would I fail thee. Though all the fiends of the 
Abyss rise up to tear us one from another, yet will 
I not forsake thee.’ 

“Hush,” she said, “hush, hush; I am afraid for 
thee and for me, lest some evil spirit lure thee 
away. Do not leave me, my Beloved. Do not 
let them take thee from me. Would that thou 
wert no King but a simple shepherd ; then in peace 
might we dwell alone together, and not fear war, 


FOREBODING 


61 


nor treason, nor the hatred of demons or men.” 

Britric sighed. To crown her Queen he had op- 
posed the will of the Chief Captain; he had stood 
resolutely firm against the prejudices of the Druids, 
he had foregone the chance of an alliance which 
would have brought gold to his coffers. And now 
she for whose sake he had defied the Druids and 
had mastered the Chief Captain, she, the captive 
he had crowned and enthroned, would fain be but 
a shepherdess! 

He sighed at her perversity; but Gisela felt his 
thoughts, and looked at him with the same piteous 
imploring glances that had first bewitched him. 

“Be not angry,” she pleaded; “very poor and 
weak was I; little meriting thy grace. But thy 
love redeems me; thy love shall teach me, strengthen 
me, inspire me. For thee I will be brave; for 
thee I will learn to be a Queen, thine own true 
Queen. Thou wert bom to rule and conquer. 
Forgive me, my Lord, my Love, that I am yet so 
far beneath thee.” 

Britric trembled. Never in the face of a foe had 
he felt this sinking at his heart. But he feared 
for Gisela. She seemed too fragile for the world, 


62 


THE VALIANT HEART 


too delicate; how would she fare if he were slain 
and she left unprotected? 

“When thou goest to war again,” she said in her 
exquisitely tender voice, “every moment will be as 
an hour to me, every hour a day, every day a year, 
while thou art absent. As a mirror of steel am I, 
radiant when thou, my King, art seen reflected in 
the soul that loves thee; but when thy presence 
is withdrawn, the mirror, gray and empty, loses all 
life and beauty.” 

Britric’s heart throbbed almost to suffocation. 
Lonely as he was, with not one friend he could 
trust, not one being to whom he could speak out 
his mind, this woman’s love was to him so precious 
that it seemed divine. 

“Beloved,” he said, “never would I be absent 
from thee. Love knows no absence ; love can pierce 
through space. Though I shall go many times to 
war if foemen menace my people, yet thou shalt 
be ever with me, throned in my heart. Thy love 
shall give new strength to my arm. To know I 
fight to keep thee safe and tranquil, to keep away 
from thee all terror, menace, ugliness, and clashing 
anger, my sword shall be as a thousand swords, my 


FOREBODING 


63 


spear unerring in aim, my courage deathless. Say 
not thou wouldst be deprived of me; say not thou 
cravest for me to be a simple shepherd. A King 
I was bom, and a King’s royal burden I must 
bear without complaining. The wind blows ve- 
hemently upon lofty places; vain is it for Kings 
to crave the sheltered peace of the humble! But I 
would bring into this kingdom such a rule of jus- 
tice and true mercy that never again shall my peo- 
ple serve the Gods through crouching fear; nor 
the cruel word sacrifice be heard from the lips of 
the powerful, mocking the weak and helpless. For 
the God I worship is as loving as He is resplendent.” 

Gisela lifted her drooping eyelids and gazed at 
her husband. Very beautiful and noble he ap- 
peared; but strange, and different from other men. 
Sometimes she almost feared him; but her heart 
swelled with pride to think that she, even she, 
Gisela the slave, obscure and timid, could with a 
look or a word play on his emotions as a musician 
plays on a harp. The moment she threw herself at 
his feet when first she beheld him, she had felt the 
power of her defenseless weakness to touch his 
compassionate heart. 


64 


THE VALIANT HEART 


But there was none other like him; this she re- 
peated to herself. And with her love and adora- 
tion there mingled a dread lest some day his deep 
tenderness might ensnare and destroy him. 

Reason and foresight Gisela had little; but as 
the beasts of the field know when the storm is ap- 
proaching ere its violence breaks over-head, so 
did she feel that Britric’s generosity would draw 
upon himself and her some crushing sorrow, un- 
less he could be warned in time and think no more 
of his strange God. Safer would it be to worship 
the old Gods of the Druids! 

“My Own,” she said, “my King; thou speakest 
of a God not as the other Gods. But verily if the 
Arch-Priest discover that thou secretly adorest 
One to whom he sacrifices not, then might he blast 
thee with his curses, and drive thee from the throne, 
and tear me away from thee, Beloved, and leave 
me desolate for ever.” 

Again Britric’s eyes flashed, and his face grew 
stem and rigid. 

“Fear not, my Queen,” he said; “the Unknown 
God shall yet be King»over all Gods ; and when the 
hour comes for Him'to shine forth in the splendor 


FOREBODING 


65 


of His greatness, nevermore shall sacrifices bleed 
on the altars. With harp and song and offerings 
of fragrant blossoms shall He be greeted; for He 
desires mercy, not harsh sacrifice! And men shall 
serve Him because so glorious is He that only to 
know Him is to love and worship.” 

“And hast thou seen Him?” said Gisela. 

“Never any of mortal race has yet beheld Him,” 
answered Britric; “but in my dreams a voice has 
whispered that I, even I, shall see Him, — though 
when or where I know not.” 

A soft wind rippled the surface of the waters 
and touched Gisela’s face as with a lover’s sweet 
caress. But she shivered, though the night was 
warm. Britric’s hope and fervor wakened no an- 
swering echo in her heart; for as he spoke it 
seemed as if the face of the Arch-Druid came be- 
tween her and her husband, and sheer terror seized 
her. 

Britric saw her shiver, and he bent to the oars 
and very tenderly he said, “Thou art weary, my 
Sweet One, and thy great love makes thee fear for 
me. But the day shall come when no longer will 
I whisper in secret my worship of the Unknown 


66 


THE VALIANT HEART 


God, but will proclaim it to my people even with 
trumpets and with clarions. Till then, Soul of my 
Soul, keep hidden in thy breast these hopes I 
breathe unto thee only. Pray that the day of vic- 
tory may be hastened, the victory of love over dark 
hate and fear. Cherish my hopes. Beloved, for I 
would have thee one with me, one spirit, so that 
when our mortal life is ended, together we may 
rise into the Everlasting Sunlight. What were love 
if the cruel grave could quench it?” 

Then Gisela shuddered again and said, “My 
Lord, my King; speak not of the grave. Is not our 
life joyous? Art thou not happy? Do I not love 
thee enough? Thou art my God; none other God 
do I desire! For ever could I gaze on thee in ado- 
ration.” 

“Fain would I deserve thy love,” said Britric 
humbly. And so beautiful she seemed in his eyes 
that he revered her as a gift from the Immortals, 
too sweet and delicate to be of this rude earth. 
And Britric loved her more and more trustingly, 
and worshiped her as if she were a messenger from 
Heaven. 


CHAPTER VIII 


TREASON 

TT was mid noon in blossoming April; but three 
torches were burning, for the hidden council 
chamber of the Druids was in a cavern deep down 
under the earth, whither never a sunbeam pene- 
trated. 

Alone together were the black-bearded Arch- 
Druid and the tall Chief Captain, in a secret con- 
sultation. Kinsfolk were they. Of all the Cap- 
tains of the Guard none only save this Captain was 
in league with the High Priest; none save he alone 
of all the warriors had penetrated the mystery of 
the cavernous depths. 

“’Tis but a matter of time,” said the Arch-Druid ; 
“Wait! Britric will wreck himself. Already his 
passion for the slave girl clouds his judgment.” 

The Chief Captain laughed; and his laugh echoed 
and reechoed in the gloomy cavern. 

“Very foolish is Britric,” said he; “in the daugh- 
67 


68 


THE VALIANT HEART 


ter of a slave he seeks the virtues that scarce would 
he find in a Queen, — save only one, and that one 
is dead long since. Well enough is Gisela for 
those who would use her as a slave. But Britric is 
bewitched; he adores the Phoenician’s base-born 
offspring even as a goddess! Mad is he; stark mad. 
And is there not a law of the Gods by which a mad 
King may be stripped of crown and scepter?” 

The Arch-Druid pondered; “Thou wouldst de- 
throne young Britric,” he said curtly; “and thou 
desirest this woman for thine own?” 

“More wisely than Britric should I handle her,” 
murmured the Chief Captain. 

“Thou hatest her?” questioned the Druid. 

“Nay, I love her!” protested the Chief Captain. 

The Arch-Druid shrugged; “I thank the High 
Gods I am lifted above these earthly loves and 
hatreds,” he said. “No desires have I, save only 
to voice the will of the Most Holy, and advance 
the welfare of the realm. And Britric imperils the 
peace of the realm. He is teaching men to think, 
to question, to aspire! Very unwise is he, — and 
through this people he is awakening, he shall be 
wrecked. But learn thou humility, my cousin; 


TREASON 


69 


forget not that the Gods, and the priests of the 
Gods, rank very far above the Captain-in-Chief, 
even though Britric be smitten of the Gods.” 

“But though Britric die, a King shall reign,” 
said the Chief Captain; “a King grown wise with 
years while unimpaired in strength; a King who 
knows the art of kingcraft better far than this poor 
love-sick Britric. Loyal to the crown am I; ever 
must it be upheld, — even though Britric perish.” 

“Wait,” said the Druid; “for the people all adore 
young Britric. Never in the memory of man in 
Western Alba has a King been more beloved and 
honored. But the populace are fickle, the populace 
are cowards. Can we brand their King as a blas- 
phemer, then shall the Gods deliver him into our 
hands! For though the people trust in Britric, 
though they love him, yet do they greatly fear the 
Gods. And by fear the world is ruled, and ever 
will be.” 

“Yea,” said the Chief Captain bluntly; “yea, our 
fear lest Britric grow more mighty than our- 
selves, is what so sorely irks us. But were he 
tame and meek, and little loved, then might we 
leave him in peace. The more swiftly the High 


70 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Gods can smite him, the more freely thou and I will 
breathe on earth! Let us entrap him soon, ere he 
grow to a stature that must o’ertop us all. Well do 
I know men; better by far than thou, for I know 
them in the field of action. And I tell thee, save 
only his mad infatuation for this slave woman, and 
his foolishness in deeming gentle mercy a weapon 
more potent than strong terror, Britric had been 
a King such as the Gods themselves had honored!” 

“I marvel thou so lovest Britric,” said the Druid. 

“Nay, I hate him. I hated his Mother. As a 
being from another world did she walk this earth. 
Fallen and degraded I felt in her presence; and 
never for that can I forgive her, dead or living!” 

The Chief Captain gripped his dagger with a ges- 
ture of rage and despair: 

“Hard of heart art thou,” he said, “and passion- 
less as an image of stone. Never for any woman 
wouldst thou imperil thy precious soul, so entirely 
dost thou love thy sacred self! But I — ” 

He broke off abruptly, and his dark face grew 
livid. 

“At last thou shalt learn my secret,” he hissed; 


TREASON 71 

“If I tell it not, my brain will go on fire! Madly 
I loved her.” 

“Whom didst thou love?” 

“The Queen, my Master’s wife, the Mother of 
this Britric. Had she loved me I would have scaled 
the starry Heavens for her sake; or crawled in the 
Abyss of Darkness if there I could have won her.” 

“She abhorred thee?” said the Druid. 

The Chief Captain groaned; “Nay, she pitied ! 
Even now I dream of her eyes, sad and rebuk- 
ing. ‘7 trusted thee,’ she said; ‘so fail me not! 
Thou wert bom to be loyal and noble. Be not ig- 
noble . Thus spake she, and I was abashed and 
humbled. And Britric’s eyes, even as his Mother’s 
eyes, drive me to frenzy. For whene’er he 
looks on me, be it rebukingly or trustingly, he opens 
the old wound in my heart; and then in the same 
moment I love him and I hate him.” 

The Arch-Druid’s face changed not, nor softened. 
He felt no pity for the Chief Captain; only sheer 
contempt that a strong warrior should squander his 
forces in so profitless a self -tormenting. 

“Wherefore didst thou not reveal this malady 


72 


THE VALIANT HEART 


more early,” he remonstrated ; “a potion can I give 
thee, a magical cup of oblivion, — so that thy very 
memory of the Queen shall be effaced.” 

“Nay, nay,” said the Chief Captain, “brew 
me no potions! Robbed of her memory I should 
grow old. The fire of my life would sink to ashes. 
Ask me not to forget her. That will I never do.” 

The Arch-Druid inwardly gave thanks to the 
Gods, for in the tempestuous spirit of the Captain-in- 
Chief, who swayed from one extreme of passion 
to the other, he saw an instrument he would use 
in carving Britric’s fate. 

A torch flared up, then flickered, then was utterly 
extinguished. 

Reverently the Druid bowed his head; 

“The will of the Gods is foretold. The light of 
Britric’s fame shall vanish! Behold that torch, 
the symbol of his kingship! Without storm or 
tempest or breath of man it has been quenched. So 
shall it be with the glory of young Britric! But 
the hour is not yet come.” 


PART THREE 





CHAPTER IX 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 

TVTOT thirteen moons had waxed and waned since 
^ ’ the King’s marriage; and Gisela yet was ecstat- 
ically happy in her husband’s love. 

Though the Druids were chill and scornful to 
the base-born Queen, and much she feared them, 
and trembled lest they blight her with a sickness, 
the love of Britric was as sunshine, giving her 
strength to rise above her fears. 

But the days of her delight were numbered, — 
though she knew it not. 

On Beltane Eve the dark Arch-Druid read in the 
stars that the land was threatened with a famine; 
for the Gods, he said, were angered that so long 
had the sacrificial stones been watered only with 
blood of goats and rams and bulls and heifers. 
Vain would it be to hope for mercy from the out- 
raged Gods, unless the people would give will- 
ingly even of their best, their fairest, their most 
75 


76 


THE VALIANT HEART 


pure. And so, in solemn secret council, the Wise 
Ones said and declared, each to the other, that seven 
beautiful maidens should be sacrificed; but first 
should these fair ones pass a night in the sacred 
place where the Gods could come to them. 

In low tones spake the Druids, for although the 
King was leagues away, and hunting in the forest, 
the memory of his stem eyes troubled their souls, 
and they feared him. 

“Powerless is the King to oppose our authority. 
Shall we not put the knife into his hand to per- 
form the sacred slaughter as his father did before 
him; and shall he not carry the torch to light the 
holy fire? With his own hand he shall sacrifice 
to the Gods, and do our bidding humbly.” 

So spake they; and yet they were uneasy; for 
though Britric was so courteous, yet his eyes never 
quailed beneath the eyes of the Arch-Druid, nor 
was his will swayed this way or that, not even by 
the words of the Most Holy when they revealed to 
him portents in the stars, signs in the eternal 
Heavens. 

“The King returns not from the forest until sun- 
set,” said a feeble-voiced Druid, white-haired and 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 


77 


withered of body but very subtle of mind. “Let us 
send forth the order for the sacrifice even this very 
hour; for if we wait to ask him ‘ Shall it be?’, he 
will say, ‘Offer instead the bulls and heifers.’ But 
if the high command of the Gods goes out ere Britric 
comes back from his hunting, then shall it be too 
late for his voice to demur or make confusion.” 

And the Arch-Druid, younger by twenty years, 
and strong, and very dark and brooding, inclined 
his head and answered, 

“The Gods speak through thee, my venerable 
father. Let it be even as thou hast devised.” 

Home came the King with his warriors from the 
hunting. Gaily they returned; for the chase had 
wearied them not, but rather refreshed them in 
their fiery vigor. And into the Queen’s room, 
where she sat with her maidens, came the King, — 
as eager to greet her as in the first days of their 
life together. 

A sign of her white hand bade her attendants 
withdraw; and with a languorous grace she arose 
and prostrated herself before her Lord and Mon- 
arch, saying, “Lo, I am thy slave.” 


78 


THE VALIANT HEART 


But he raised her and embraced her, and whis- 
pered tenderly, “My Queen.” 

In his arms she nestled, and sighed with delight, 
and half -closed her eyes while he caressed her. 

Then, in her soft and gentle tones she murmured, 

“In thine absence, the Wise Ones have sent forth 
a decree, my Britric, a command which thou wilt 
like not.” 

And she told him how the trumpeters of the Arch- 
Druid had proclaimed to all the people that next 
day at noon the King with his own hand would 
offer sacrifices to the Gods. 

Britric’s eyes flashed, though as yet he knew not 
that the sacrifices would be other than the ram 
or the goat, or the wild white bull. 

Neither did the Queen know the nature of the 
sacrifice. Nor to the crowd had the Druids pro- 
claimed it. By stealth did they go at dusk, and one 
by one selected the maidens, and carried them away, 
forbidding the parents to cry out or murmur, under 
pain of being smitten with a leprosy which blights 
the bold profane ones who question the will of the 
High Gods! 

Yet though the Queen knew nought of the secret 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 


79 


scheming of the Druids, she shivered when she 
looked up at her husband’s face and saw in his 
eyes that sword-bright flash which frightened even 
while it thrilled her, for she knew it meant that 
he was angry. 

It was mid-noon of Beltane feast-day. With 
harps and trumpets came the bards, clad in their 
azure mantles; and behind them the novices in 
white. And up to the Sacrificial Stones they 
marched, singing and chanting in honor of the 
Gods. 

Within the sacred circle waited and watched the 
Holiest Ones, the wise initiates, who could read the 
lore of the stars, and forecast the hidden future, 
and could heal or smite at will. 

And in their midst was an enormous cage of 
wicker, veiled in a wrapping of silk of Phoenicia, 
and mounted on an unlit fire. With logs and twigs 
and sun-dried mosses had the fire been laid by a 
skilled hand; and oil had been poured on the wood 
that it might burn the more swiftly when the torch 
should be applied. But not yet was it revealed 
what nature of victims were captive in the cage. 


80 


THE VALIANT HEART 


No sound came from the cage, and the multitude 
listened in vain for the lowing of the heifers or 
the roaring of angry bulls. With a potion had the 
victims been dulled to silent acquiescence in their 
doom. 

At the High Altar stood the Arch-Priest, with the 
Wise Ones grouped behind and around the central 
stone in a half-circle; and again in a half-circle 
stood the bards, and behind the bards the novices. 
And they waited for Britric the King. 

The sun was high in the Heavens, and the crowd 
had assembled ere a hunting horn rang out with 
three notes, and three again, the signal that the 
King was coming. 

Hand in hand with the Queen he came. Very 
noble and stately his bearing; and she so modest 
and gentle, so sweet and so gracious, that men scarce 
recalled how her mother had been but a slave. 

From her head there floated a veil of shimmer- 
ing gossamer; and gems gleamed in her dark hair. 
Her robe was broidered with roses of gold for the 
sun, and leaves of silver for the moon. Her lips 
were red as a rose, though her face was pallid. 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 


81 


Behind the King and Queen walked thrice ten 
of the King’s own Guards, the tall Chief Captain 
at their head; and so intent was the crowd on the 
faces of Britric and his Queen, that none remarked 
how the Captain of the Guard was gazing on the 
Queen, and how his cavernous eyes were glittering 
with evil fires. 

Facing the circle of the stones was a chair of 
state for the King and a smaller one for the Queen; 
and the King led his Queen to her place; but him- 
self he seated not. 

With swift swinging strides he entered the cir- 
cle of stones; and the Guards stood back and waited 
around the throne of the Queen. 

To the altar strode Britric, and bowed his knee 
and bent his stately head; and silently he prayed, 
while the black-bearded Arch-Druid stood touch- 
ing him with the potent wand, so that it seemed to 
the populace as if the King were kneeling to the 
Druid and not to the Invisible Gods. 

Silent were the bards, and breathless the young 
novices; and eagerly they watched and waited, 
though as yet they knew not what manner of crea- 
tures the Holy Ones had concealed in the mon- 


82 THE VALIANT HEART 

strous cage which stood enshrouded in its silken 
cover. 

The King rose from his knees. Then the Arch- 
Druid lifted his arms and waved his wand, and in 
a loud voice he said, so that all the crowd could 
hear, 

“Famine threatens the land. Not yet the blight 
has fallen ; but in the stars I have seen that it shall 
fall, unless the Gods may be persuaded to take back 
their anger. Much have I prayed to the Most 
High; and the answer came, ‘ Purity and beauty 
do we love; we the Immortal Gods demand seven 
mortal maidens’ Then did I, the servant of the 
Gods, led by the voices of the Gods, choose the 
seven purest and most fair young virgins in the 
realm. And even as the moon rose high in the 
Heavens, the Gods descended to the virgins; and 
the blight well-nigh has been averted. But know 
ye that those whom the Gods have embraced are 
holy and must die; no more must the seven maidens 
breathe the polluted air of this world of sinners, 
for the favor of the Gods has sanctified them! To 
the Gods they must belong for ever.” 

A hush was on the crowd; and even the warriors 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 


83 


of the Guard were awed and bent their proud heads. 

But Britric the King turned pale with the white- 
hot pallor of wrath, and his eyes shone like the 
blade of a sword unsheathed in the sunlight. 

Yet no man marked his anger, for the eyes of 
each and all were gazing towards the cage, veiled 
in its wrappings of silk from the marts of distant 
Phoenicia. 

At a sign from the all-powerful Arch-Druid, two 
aged Druids pulled back the silken veils; and then 
the people beheld within the cage seven maidens, — 
fair and lovely last night, but ashen with terror 
to-day. 

In robes of white were they clad, and their trem- 
bling limbs could be seen of the multitude, for their 
garments were as the clouds which on summer 
nights float dreamily across the pale face of the 
Moon and yet conceal her not. 

Into the King’s hand the Arch-Druid put the 
sacred knife ; and the King gripped it firmly. 

“Three to fall by the knife,” said the voice of 
the High Priest, “for blood must flow on the altar. 
And two to offer to the flames, for the purifying 
spirits of the Fire must be wooed and appeased. 


84 


THE VALIANT HEART 


And one to be cast into the Waves, lest the God 
of the Sea be jealous of his brethren. Then the 
last shall be buried in the Earth, to make the sea- 
sons fruitful. So shall the realm be saved and 
the Immortal Gods be pacified.” 

As the Arch-Druid spoke, the oldest of the 
Druids brought forward a lighted torch in readiness 
for the King to thrust into the well-laid fire. 

But the King heeded not. 

To the door of the cage he went; swiftly he 
opened it, and in a clear strong voice he called his 
Guards into the sacred circle; and the crowd mar- 
velled, for never had this been done before. 

Then, one by one, from out the cage the King 
in his stalwart arms lifted each maiden, and to 
each he said gently, “Fear not.” 

But they only trembled the more. 

Their limbs gave way beneath them, and they 
fell face downwards at the foot of the altar. 

Then the people wondered anew, for the cage was 
left empty, though the Arch-Priest had said there 
were two to be burned in the cage. 

Grim as an image of iron stood the mighty Arch- 
Druid, the Absolute, — and his eyes seemed to reach 


THE CRUCIAL TEST 


85 


to the soul of the multitude as though even as one 
man the crowd must sway to his will. 

The Queen on her throne trembled and shivered, 
for an agony of terror gripped her. Her gaze 
was fixed on the fearless face of her husband. 
Never had she loved him more than in this mo- 
ment; never had she feared so greatly for his life 
and hers and all their joy. 

“My people,” the King said, and his voice, sil- 
very, clear, resounding, was as a trumpet, — “The 
time of sacrifice is ended, and the age of mercy 
has begun. In the name of the Most High God, 
the God of Gods, the King of Kings, I pro- 
claim these maidens shall go free. Nevermore 
shall the blood of human victims flow on this altar; 
never again shall the innocent bleed for the guilty, 
for the Most High God is just; He would have each 
one among ye repent himself of his own sins, not 
seek salvation through the massacre of tender 
maidens.” 

Then rose a howl from all the Druids; and, at 
a sign from the Arch-Priest, the Captain of the 
Guard stealthily came behind the King, and smote 
him suddenly and swiftly with a mace of iron; so 


86 


THE VALIANT HEART 


suddenly, so swiftly, that in an instant Britric fell 
to the ground. 

Then the throng of Druids closed around him 
shrieking, 

“Blasphemy, blasphemy!” 

And the voice of the Chief Captain of the Guard 
was mingled with the voices of the Druids, 

“Death to the defiler! Death to him who mocks 
the Gods.” 

The crowd took up the cry, “Death, Death!” 

And the multitude of voices beat on the ears of 
the King like the roar of savage beasts. 

Then the darkness came upon him, and he knew 


no more. 


CHAPTER X 


THE PRICE OF VALOR 

TVTHEN the King opened his eyes he opened them 
on blackness. 

Around him was a silence as of the grave. 

He strove to stir, but a weight of lead seemed 
to press upon him. He struggled to throw it off, 
but he was so tightly bound that a log scarcely 
would have been more helpless. 

The pain in his head was acute; and across the 
darkness he saw jagged flashes of fiery red light, 
which tortured his eyes and stabbed them. 

He understood then that his head was wounded; 
and again came bright red flashes, arrows of pain. 

He had no means of judging whether it was an 
hour, a day, or a lifetime, since he had been smit- 
ten down at the High Altar in the very moment 
when he felt his heart glow with unconquerable 
courage, — courage which seemed to come from the 

Unknown God to strengthen and inspire him. 

87 


88 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Yet even in that instant he had been stricken, and 
stricken from behind. 

But by whom? 

That his wound had been dealt by the Chief Cap- 
tain of his Guard never entered his thoughts as 
possible. From Druids he was prepared for hate 
and treachery; but in warriors he looked only to 
find loyalty and frankness. Nor did he under- 
stand that the black-browed Captain never had 
ceased to covet Gisela for his own, nor had ever 
forgiven — nor would ever forgive — the King for 
wedding her. 

Britric could not put his hand to his throbbing 
head. The thongs binding his arms to his sides 
were wound round him so that he could scarcely 
breathe. 

He sickened with a sudden terror for the fate of 
Gisela. Before her very eyes he had been smit- 
ten; and the Unknown God had sent no aid or 
comfort. 

And now Britric strove to discover where he had 
been prisoned. He listened for any sound which 
might aid him; but sound there was none. Had 
the Druids buried him, living, in one of the ancient 


THE PRICE OF VALOR 89 

tombs deep underground? And would he never 
again come forth into the light of the sun? 

To starve, to rot, to molder, — must such be his 
hideous fate? 

In agony of longing, his heart cried out for 
Gisela. To see her but for one moment, even in a 
dream, he thought, would renew his hope and cour- 
age, and help him to forget his pain. 

He closed his eyes, and wondered how many 
days it would take him to die? Every nerve in his 
body, all the vigor of his spirit, rebelled against 
such a death, lingering, passive, helpless. It 
seemed the more horrible in proportion to his 
youth, his strength, and to the hopes which had 
been so noble, so ardent, so aspiring. Surely it 
could not be that his God would thus forsake 
him. 

A grating sound smote on his ear. Like a blow 
it seemed in the silence. 

Then a dazzle of lights, and the smoke of torches, 
and the treading of sandalled feet came around 
him. 

He set his face sternly, and opened his eyes the 
wider. Bound and helpless as he was, he was 


90 THE VALIANT HEART 

yet the King; so his eyes must never quail nor 
waver. 

The intruders crowded around him, a score or 
more of Druids; and he saw that although he was 
so closely bound, and they were twenty to one, they 
grasped their curved knives and looked at him as 
if they feared him. 

But in the face of the Arch-Druid there was no 
sign of fear, but a relentless hatred. 

“Unbind Britric the madman,” he said, “and let 
him stand for his trial. The Gods condemn none 
unheard.” 

With their knives the Druids cut all the thongs; 
but Britric was not able to rise alone. It was the 
iron arm of the Arch-Druid which pulled him up 
and hurled him against the wall, where he stood 
with torches flaming full on him. His tormentors, 
he knew, would gloat over every change in the ex- 
pression of his face; so he prayed silently to his 
God to give him unwavering power of self-com- 
mand. 

On a bench of ancient stone the Arch-Druid 
seated himself. The wand of office was in his 
hand. 


THE PRICE OF VALOR 91 

“Britric, son of Britric,” he said, “hast thou 
aught to plead in thy defense?” 

The King made no answer. He was thinking; 
but the pain in his head made thinking more diffi- 
cult than to have played sweet music in a roaring 
storm. 

“Wilt thou do penance at the Altar of the Most 
High, and retract thy words, and pray to the Gods 
to pardon thy blasphemies and heal thee of thy 
madness?” 

Thus spake the Arch-Druid. 

But still the King was silent. Fervently in his 
heart he prayed to the Unknown God to show him 
how to answer his accusers. 

But the Heavens were deaf and dumb. 

“Wilt thou, 0 Britric, swear and pronounce be- 
fore thy people that thou wilt abase thyself, and 
bow in perfect humility to the decrees of the Gods, 
pronounced by me their Consecrated and Inspired 
One?” 

Then came the King’s voice, abruptly, and very 
clearly, 

“That will I never do; for not yet knowest thou 
the true God.” 


92 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The Arch-Druid gave no reply in words, but he 
made a sign with his wand. Then the most aged 
of the Druids held, on a long stick, close to the 
King’s face, a sponge soaked with a strongly smell- 
ing liquid. And the King’s head fell forward, and 
he staggered. 

They seized him again and laid him on the 
ground, inert and helpless; nor could Britric un- 
derstand what they were doing; he knew only that 
as the fumes from the sponge mounted to his brain, 
the control of his limbs deserted him and his eyes 
were darkened. 

On the ground he lay as if dead. 

“We will do it now,” said the Arch-Druid; “the 
Gods are merciful. While he sleeps, the red hot 
irons shall brand him. Then when he awaken, if 
the wounds are healed ere noonday, this will show 
the Gods forgive him. But if ere mid-noon the 
touch of my sacred wand can heal him not, then 
will he be proved unclean, accursed. And if he 
be accursed, no longer can he reign, lest he cor- 
rupt the realm, and bring disaster even upon us the 
holy.” 

Of mercy the Druid had spoken; but he had 


THE PRICE OF VALOR 


93 


closed the King’s eyes and plunged him in deep 
slumber not from pity, nor to spare him torment, 
but because Britric’s eyes, so keen, so steady, 
fearless even when face to face with infamy and 
death, smote into the minds of the Druids a hor- 
rible fear lest Britric’s Unknown God might descend 
in their midst, and blast them with His thunder. 

But now that the King’s eyes were closed, they 
feared him and his God no longer. 

A sign from the Arch-Druid, and an inner door 
was opened, and within was seen a brazier, with 
many irons heating in the fire; and the irons were 
red hot. 

Stretching out a claw-like hand, the most aged 
of the Druids, trembling with excitement, strove 
to unfasten the King’s white and golden tunic ; then 
in his impatience he took his knife and slashed at it 
and tore it away. 

But the drug was potent, and the King lay as in 
a deep sleep. 

While his body slept his spirit wakened. He 
dreamt he was a boy again; and his mother was 
bending over him with a look of exquisite tender- 


ness. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BITTER CUP 



•0 come back from sleep to waking, was for 


Britric to fall from a region of light and won- 
derful changeless love into an abyss of darkness 
and appalling anguish. 

And in the dark he could hear a piteous sobbing, 
and a stifled voice which was saying, “No, no; do 
not force me to look on him! I cannot bear it! 
What have you done? . . . Ah, how hideous! . . . 
Take me away!” 

It was Gisela’s voice. 

Britric opened his eyes; and, with an effort which 
sent arrows of agony shooting through his whole 
frame even from his head to the soles of his feet, 
he raised himself and sat upright. 

“Hush, my Queen,” he said, “they shall not hurt 


thee.” 


At the sound of her voice almost he forgot how 


THE BITTER CUP 


95 


powerless he was to save her. So habituated was 
he to help the helpless, that as soon as he heard 
Gisela weeping, he promised relief and comfort. 

The torches were flaring, and their fumes filled 
the stifling dungeon. For a moment he thought he 
must be dreaming. But it was no dream. 

Gisela stood in a far comer, shrinking back 
against the wall and turning her head away as if 
the light of the torches hurt her eyes. And beside, 
with one hand on her shoulder, stood the dark Arch- 
Druid; and on her other side the aged white-haired 
Druid, with his claw-like hand gripping her tightly. 

“Look upon Britric,” they said, speaking to- 
gether, one in the querulous tone of extreme age; 
the other in a voice so vigorous that each word was 
like a blow. 

But Gisela shuddered, and put up her hands to 
cover her eyes, as she wailed, “I cannot bear to see 
those cruel wounds. Take me away!” 

Then Britric’s anger flamed forth: 

“Ye infamous cowards,” he raged; “unhand the 
Queen and treat her with reverence. No matter 
what torment your tyranny may work on me, she 
shall go scathless.” 


96 


THE VALIANT HEART 


There was a moment’s hush, broken only by 
Gisela’s sobbing. 

Then the Arch-Druid spoke, slowly, deliberately : 
“Yesterday thou wert King,” he said, “0 Britric, 
son of Britric. But the Gods have smitten thee 
with a madness to chastise thy blasphemy. There- 
fore shalt thou reign no more. Nor may a mad- 
man embrace a wife, lest demons of madness enter 
his offspring and destroy the woman.” 

A shriek of horror from Gisela rang out and 
echoed and reechoed. 

Then again there was silence; and at last, qua- 
vering, tremulously, yet with an implacable hos- 
tility, the oldest Druid spoke to the Queen: 

“Thou hearest, Woman! He is mad! Though 
his crown and sword are reft from him, and his 
body branded with the marks of the accursed, yet 
still he deems himself a King; and shamelessly 
gives orders to the Holiest Ones as if to the slaves 
of his own household!” 

Britric still sat upright, supporting himself with 
his hands. His arms were throbbing and burning 
in an agony which brought drops of sweat to his 
brow; his breast was as if wild beasts were tear- 


THE BITTER CUP 


97 


ing at it with poisoned fangs. But he held his 
head high, and in a strong level voice he said, 

“Gisela, my Beautiful One, be brave! Little 
do I fear the fury these deluded ones wreak on my 
body. The God of Gods is just, and will deliver 
me yet, if I flinch not nor waver. But as for them, 
— at the Last Day they shall cover their faces in 
shame, and feel in their souls the pangs of a re- 
morse more burning than any torment I can suffer 
in my body.” 

But the Queen looked at her husband with eyes 
which were glazing in terror; and the ancient Druid 
in his high tremulous voice said again, “Behold, he 
is mad. He blasphemes against the chosen priests 
of the Gods!” 

Britric seemed not to hear. 

“Sweet Love,” he said, “one kiss from thee and 
I shall forget my pain. For pain dies with the 
body, but true love lives for ever. Not all the 
griefs and storms of the earth can quench it.” 

But Gisela stood helpless, gripped on each shoul- 
der by the King’s tormentors; nor did she answer 
one single word. 

“Release the Queen,” said Britric again. 


98 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The habit of command was not to be broken in 
a moment; and now there was scorn as well as maj- 
esty in his voice. Long had he doubted the heav- 
enly inspiration of the Druids, and his doubt had 
grown to certainty that the initiates were but men, 
— without the virtues of men, which are valor, loy- 
alty, and justice. 

Again the Arch-Druid spoke, and his voice grated 
with a furious anger little befitting one who boasted 
of wisdom from on high; 

“Hearken, Gisela the Queen,” he said, “see how 
the demon of madness rages in this outcast who was 
once thy husband! Go not near him, lest he turn 
and rend thee, and drag thee down with him into 
everlasting darkness where all Kings shall go who 
mock the Gods.” 

Then Gisela cast towards her husband a fleeting 
look of piteous yearning and such abject terror 
that it crossed his mind to wonder if they had in- 
deed bewildered her to madness. 

Yet his love should shatter their evil spell; never 
would he surrender. 

With an effort which seemed to tear every sinew 


THE BITTER CUP 


99 


in his body, he rose to his feet and held out his 
arms to Gisela. 

“Be not afraid, my True Love,” he said, “for 
the Unknown God has power to save us even now. 
And so greatly do I prize thee, that my love shall 
be as a magic garment wrapped around thee to 
protect thee from all evil. Cast away fear, Be- 
loved One. Be brave as befits the wife of a King 
and warrior. For the end is not yet.” 

But Gisela, frozen with fear, trembled and shud- 
dered and made no answer. Britric gazed at her 
adoringly, looking to see brave love and mute en- 
couragement in her dark eyes. But her eyes were 
dull and cloudy; and again she turned her face 
away. 

Then Britric’s arms fell by his sides, and an icy 
chill came over him. With a terrible distinct- 
ness he saw that she whom he had worshiped, she 
whom he had crowned and enthroned, was no bright 
starry spirit, no Queen of everlasting Love, but a 
weak, wavering, earthy woman. 

Fear had driven love out of her heart; and even 
as a straw in the wind seemed the soul of Gisela. 


100 THE VALIANT HEART 

On the Arch-Druid’s face there showed a flush of 
triumph. 

“The Gods speak through the Queen,” he said; 
“Vile and unclean art thou, 0 Britric, and the 
marriage between ye twain is dissolved for ever. 
Neither on this earth, nor in the underworld of 
darkness shalt thou possess this woman. Of her 
own free choice she hath renounced thee; and the 
bond was broken in the name of the Most High Gods 
ere ever thine erstwhile Queen came into thy pres- 
ence this day.” 

Then Britric’s heart was as if turned to water; 
his hope, his very manhood seemed to fail him. 
He felt as if the spirit ■which had sustained him 
with a strength as from the Unknown God, had van- 
ished in an instant even as Gisela’s love had van- 
ished. 

Blindly he stretched up his arms to his God who 
had forsaken him. Then he swayed, tottered, and 
fell. 

As one dead he lay. 

And the Druids loosed their grip of Gisela. 

She turned on the tormentors: 

“Ye have killed him,” she said, “ye have killed 


THE BITTER CUP 101 

him! The Gods are cruel! Britric was kind. 
Never a harsh word did I hear from him; and never 
will any love me as he loved.” 

On her knees she flung herself beside her hus- 
band’s body, and she bent down trembling to kiss 
him. 

But before her lips could touch his unconscious 
face, the Arch-Druid dragged her backward; 

“Thy soul,” he said, “thy soul! For ever will 
it be accursed if thou defilest thyself by touching 
this doomed one! Severed is every link between 
ye twain. Not the Gods themselves can re-unite 
ye. But into the pit of darkness can the demons 
drag thee, even this instant, if thou art disobedient 
unto me, the mouthpiece of the Gods.” 

With a wail of misery Gisela broke into most 
bitter sobbing. 

“Why did I ever love him?” she cried. “How 
unhappy am I! How cruel are the Gods! I hate 
them!” 


“Hush,” said the Arch-Druid. 


CHAPTER XII 


DESOLATION 

V V THEN Gisela turned her face away, in that 
v ’ moment it seemed to Britric as if the flame 
of his spirit blazed up in a funeral pyre, then died 
down to a heap of ashes. 

Torture, disaster, treason, the malice of man, 
and the anger of the Gods, even the silence of the 
Unknown God, he had endured, unflinching. But 
that Gisela, at the bidding of the Druids, could 
abandon him without one word of love or of fare- 
well, — Gisela in whom was all his trust, she whom 
he had crowned as his Queen when any other in his 
place would have claimed a captor’s rights and 
kept her his slave, she into whose care he had given 
the keeping of his heart, the secrets of his soul, — 
that she could abandon him, and at the bidding of 
the one she feared and hated, was a shock so over- 
whelming that it had seemed to shatter even his 
cherished dream of an Unknown God. Well had 


102 


DESOLATION 103 

he striven to serve this God; yet the God of Love 
had left him utterly defenseless. 

Already he felt the shadow of that everlasting 
darkness to which the sinister Arch-Druid would 
condemn him before to-morrow’s sun had reached 
its zenith. In the midst of his people, and in view 
of his own warriors he had led to victory, would he 
be pronounced accursed. 

Nor would a single one amongst them dare to 
show grief for his fate, nor to salute him, nor speak 
any word with him after the fatal sentence. 

Yet all this he could have borne had Gisela 
truly loved him! 

That she would turn her face away, that she 
could renounce him in his darkest hour, — this he 
would never have believed, not even if a God 
from the High Heavens had foretold it. 

Constant himself, and steadfast, loving with a 
love which neither change nor chance could shat- 
ter, little could he understand how in a moment 
his Beloved had so changed from adoration to 
aversion, from a glowing ardor to an icy terror. 

Valiant as he was, and resolute, most resolute 
of all when threatened, he marvelled how her love 


104 


THE VALIANT HEART 


could die like a summer flower broken in the win- 
ter storm-wind. Far otherwise had his Mother 
loved his Father, with a love deepened and strength- 
ened by time and adversity. 

Sick at heart was Britric to discover that his 
Queen he had adored as a pure being from the 
skies, was weak and shallow. Branded upon his 
soul as with a red hot iron, burning more cruelly 
than any wounds upon his tortured body, were the 
words “Gisela is a coward! a coward! Yea, a 
coward!” 

Yet he loved her still; but the joyous love was 
turned to shame and anguish. 

In his misery he searched to find some reason, 
some excuse, for her desertion. Then he told him- 
self that even his warriors would flinch in fear of 
the Arch-Druid; and if warriors could fear, how 
should a trembling woman be brave? 

Ah, but love might have inspired her with 
valor! 

As Britric lay on the dungeon floor, deserted 
and betrayed, doomed to a punishment far worse 
than death, a living death, even in that darkest hour 
the thought that Gisela might not be so base, so 


DESOLATION 


105 


heartless, so callous as she seemed, came like a 
breath of pure fresh air which fanned to life the 
one spark hidden in the ashes of his hopes. 

The Druids had cast on her a spell of terror. On 
them be the blame! She was a helpless victim! 
How gladly would he forgive her; how ardently he 
yearned to comfort and uphold her! If she would 
come to him for one short hour, even one little 
hour, before the sentence was pronounced that was 
to cut him off from human intercourse for ever, 
he would forgive her so entirely that again she 
would look trustingly, adoringly, into his eyes. 

Even in the very jaws of doom true love might 
conquer; for if Gisela would speak to him one word 
of love, if she would vow to cherish his memory 
in her secret heart, if she would promise to pray 
for him to his Unknown God, then into exile, into 
the Dark Abyss itself, he would carry with him the 
memory of love, nor feel entirely forsaken. 

Night wore onwards to dawn, and Britric at last 
fell into an unquiet sleep. In a desert he seemed 
to wander, and his limbs were feeble as in extreme 
old age. With the aid of a staff he dragged him- 


106 


THE VALIANT HEART 


self over the burning sands beneath a pitiless sky, 
glaring as molten brass. His tongue clave to the 
roof of his mouth, and he staggered and fell, and 
lay on the scorching sands; nor could he rise. 

As he lay there, parched with thirst, in his dream 
he saw Gisela. 

And he cried aloud to her, “Beloved One, I per- 
ish. Give me one word of love! Then can I die 
believing in the truth of woman, and in the mercy 
of the Hidden God.” 

But Gisela either heeded not or heard not. 

Then Britric the King cried a second time, “My 
Beloved, come to me; I die of thirst and desolation. 
One word of love were more to me now than all 
the wealth of the world. Give me but one word, 
one look!” 

Gisela hesitated; glanced furtively at him; then 
shuddered, paled, and trembled. 

And again she turned her face away. 


CHAPTER XIII 


woman’s love 

TV7HILE Britric the King lay motionless on the 
T ' dungeon floor, waiting the dawn which was 
to bring him added torments, Gisela tossed lonely 
on her bed, and wept for her own desolation. 

How often she had murmured rapturously to 
Britric of her love, her joy, her peace, her adora- 
tion! But to-night she trembled in abject penitence 
for her sin in having dared to adore a man accursed 
of the Gods and doomed to everlasting darkness. 

Had she not turned away and utterly renounced 
her husband, then would the voice of the Gods have 
driven her forth with him into the wilderness. 

She would have had her queenly robes tom off 
before the multitude; and, clad in the coarse black 
garb of infamy, she would have shared the horrors 
of the curse. This frightful fate would have en- 
gulfed her had she dared to grant her husband 
the one sweet word of love he craved. 

107 


108 


THE VALIANT HEART 


And yet she could not blot out the memory of 
his pleading voice, and of his eyes, sword-bright 
and shining. 

Unrepentant, proud, unchanged, was Britric; not 
broken by the torture, nor terrified by the impend- 
ing curse. Verily, she thought, a demon must have 
entered his stately form and utterly possessed it, 
for never a mortal man could have faced so fright- 
ful a curse and neither quailed nor quavered! 

Very passionately had Gisela loved her King and 
husband in the brief day of his glory. But the 
wise all-potent Druids had bidden her choose be- 
tween this mortal lover, helpless, bound, and 
doomed, and the Eternal Gods, throned in a might 
none could resist, Gods who could save or slay, 
Gods whose favors were lavish but whose wrath was 
unpitying. 

What could she do? 

No longer could Britric the King protect her. 
Even himself he could not save. 

Doomed had he been since his birth, the Druid 
said. The wife who was one flesh with him must 
share in his doom, unless she would renounce him, 
and, in prayer, fasting and penitence, be purified 


WOMAN’S LOVE 109 

from the mortal sin of having loved a man abhorred 
of the Gods. 

Gisela shut her eyes and buried her face in her 
pillows. But not yet could she shut out the an- 
guished memory of the fearful moment when the 
grim Arch-Druid had compelled her to repeat the 
cruel formula of separation: 

Gisela the Queen, renounce Britric, once my 
husband and my King, but King no more. And in 
the name of the High Gods I cast him off. To the 
Light I go; but he to the eternal darkness. Every 
bond between us now is broken; he accursed, and I 
saved and blessed .” 

Suc'h were the words. As in a hideous night- 
mare had Gisela spoken them, at the bidding of the 
mouthpiece of the Gods. And now, by the will of 
the Gods, she must crush out of her heart even the 
last spark of quivering love for wicked Britric. 

In the very memory of his embrace lay sin and 
danger. Yet it seemed to her in the darkness that 
his arms encircled her; and his voice, the voice so 
resonant in war and strong in council, but ever soft 
to her, whispered, “Beloved, I forgive thee.” 

Then tears streamed from her eyes, and her body 


110 


THE VALIANT HEART 


trembled, for the pardon of Britric scorched her 
heart as a flame of fire; and her soul shrank back 
in terror from a love and magnanimity beyond her 
comprehending. 

If she yet loved Britric, his magical voice would 
lure her into darkness, lure her to share his punish- 
ment, lure her to utter destruction of her soul! 

For her soul’s sake, in the name of the Most High, 
she must root up out of her heart this fatal love, a 
love which would bind her to sorrow, love which 
would cut her off for ever from hope of peace and 
joy. 

Had not the all-wise Druid vowed to her that the 
Gods would blast her if she clung to Britric? What 
mortal woman could challenge the High Gods? 

0, cruel Britric to love her still, and by his love 
endanger her soul! 

She rose from her bed and stretched out her white 
arms, and to the Gods she prayed in her blind 
terror: 

“Let him not love me. Let him forget me! 
Give me no more love!” 

But when she uprooted thus her love of Britric, 
it seemed as if the life of her soul was extinguished. 


WOMAN’S LOVE 


111 


What could she ever be without her King and 
Lover? What was the poor mirror of her empty 
heart without his image? 

With a piteous wailing cry she fell to the ground. 
And there she sobbed herself to sleep; and knew not 
whether an hour or a lifetime passed ere she awak- 
ened on the morning that was to see the King her 
husband finally degraded, cursed beyond redemp- 
tion, driven out into the wilderness, — to starve, to 
die, and go down to the underworld of darkness. 


CHAPTER XIV 

“in the name of the most high gods” 



LL through that memorable night the north wind 


shrieked and wailed; but the dawn brought 
hush and calmness. 

It was on a sunlit morning, with blue sky and 
fleecy clouds overhead, and a gentle breeze from the 
west, that the King must be brought captive into the 
midst of his own subjects and pronounced accursed. 

The Druids had kept him fasting since two days 
agone; and though he was parched with fever from 
the pain of his wounds, they would give him no drop 
of water to ease his thirst. 

The red hot iron of the tormenter had been ap- 
plied again — and yet again — in effort to draw forth 
from Britric an expression of regret for his defiance 
three days bypast at the Stones of Sacrifice. But 
not even one word of penitence had passed his lips. 


112 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 


113 


Very thick the thronging of the people. Never 
before had they seen a King condemned ; and much 
they shuddered at the power of the Druids, who 
dared dethrone even a leader so victorious, so 
greatly honored. 

Generous to the poorest was King Britric, and 
magnanimous to all. Yet not one voice might be 
raised in his defense; for the Druids had sent forth 
the blasting fiat, “ Whoso defends Britric the Unbe- 
liever, shall with him be cursed, now and for ever- 
more.” 

And though there were many who loved the King, 
and none who hated him, save only the Druids 
themselves and the Chief Captain, though scarcely 
was there a man or a woman in the crowd who had 
not acclaimed young Britric when he saved their 
homes from the invader, yet none dare challenge 
the Druids and defy the terrors of the curse for 
love of Britric their King and benefactor. 

“Yea, he is mad,” they whispered; “mad, mad, 
mad. And the Wise Ones say a mad King must 
needs be dethroned, lest he bring ruin upon Alba 
and destroy us all.” 


114 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Azure the sky, and golden-bright the sun. Very 
soft and caressing the breeze, even as if its spirit 
were a lovely woman, gentle and beguiling. 

The people were gathering as on a gala day ; and 
pretty maidens among them jested and laughed. 
But the faces of the King’s Guard were stern and 
sorrowful, for they loved young Britric well, and 
had loved his father well; and very bitterly they 
hated the Druids, who allowed them little honor for 
their loyal service but said, “By our prayers are 
battles won ; and not by the swords of warriors.” 

At the Stones of Sacrifice waited the Guard, the 
Captain-in-Chief at their head. And the youngest 
among them murmured, under his breath, to another 
venturesome as himself, “What sayest thou? Could 
we not strike off the King’s bonds when he appears ; 
and pierce the Arch-Priest with our javelins, and 
drag him to the altar as a sacrifice, and save our 
King?” 

But the Chief Captain overheard the whispering, 
and bent his dark brows in a frown, and whispering 
in reply he said, 

“Curb these mutinous thoughts; for the Wise 
Ones see from afar, and if ye turn traitor ye shall 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 


115 


be changed by potent magic into stones of granite. 
Our allegiance to Britric is ended ; now must we all 
renounce him, or else for ever lose our souls to 
demons of the pit.” 

The youthful warrior turned pale; very horrible 
would it be to be smitten into stone, — he who was 
but a three days’ bridegroom. Nor could a stone 
save the King! 

So was the bold one frozen into silence. But in- 
wardly he cursed the Druids, cursed the Captain; 
then he blessed the King, — but trembled lest the 
Wise Ones might divine the thoughts of his heart. 

Preceded by music came the Druids, — music and 
song. 

In robes blue as the sky walked the bards, their 
harps in their hands, and a hymn to the Gods on 
their lips. And behind them came thrice thirty 
novices, young and beardless, clad in white. Very 
devout they were, with heads bent down, eyes low- 
ered, and hands clasped in prayer. Britric would 
fain have trained them to be warriors, but 
they chose rather to serve the Most High Gods in 
safety. 


116 THE VALIANT HEART 

The crowd fell back to make way for the long 
procession. 

Greater than the novices and bards were yet to 
come. 

Holy the novices and blessed; thrice blessed the 
bards trained to sing as the Gods inspired them. 
But blessed thrice and thrice again, the Holiest 
Ones, the Master Druids, who penetrated the secrets 
even of the stars and sun and moon. 

Ninety and nine were they; and by threes they 
walked. And last of all, in token of humility, 
came the Most Sacred One, the great Arch-Druid, 
in whose wand dwelt powers to lift the pious soul to 
the high Heavens, or chain the wicked in eternal 
darkness. 

Prone fell the nearest of the crowd as the Arch- 
Druid passed. But he vouchsafed them never a 
glance. 

Behind him, fettered with chains and bound with 
thongs of hide, between two spearmen walked Brit- 
ric, once the King, now King no longer. 

Pale and stern his face, and thin and hollow. 
Gone his crown and his sword; but firmly he 
walked, though the chains were clanking as he 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 


117 


stepped. Very high and proudly he held his head, 
higher than on that day when all the people had 
acclaimed him victor. 

A hush fell on the multitude as they gazed on 
their erstwhile King, discrowned and bound and 
helpless. On his uncovered arms they could see 
the marks of red hot irons; and some among the 
women lifted their voices to deride him; for had he 
been guiltless (so said the holy Druids) the wounds 
would have been healed and would have left no 
scar or sign. So by these very marks they knew 
him as an infidel, a traitor, a blasphemer of the 
Gods. 

At a sign from the Arch-Druid the long proces- 
sion halted. And the songs of the bards rang out 
across the sunlit morning, as Britric the Sacrifice 
entered the circle of the Sacred Stones. Then the 
Druids gathered around him. The Most Holy 
Ones came first; and then the bards. And then 
came the novices, — brought out to behold how 
swiftly the retribution of the Gods falls on a blas- 
phemer and blasts him here and for evermore. 

The Arch-Priest lifted his wand, and the songs 
were silenced. 


118 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Closer pressed the crowd; but the warriors of the 
Guard held them back, to keep pure and undefiled 
by base-born presences the Sacred Circle of the 
Stones. 

By the Sacrificial Altar stood the dark Arch- 
Druid. 

Raised on boulders of stone was this altar; and 
He of the Potent Wand stood high in the sight of 
the multitude. 

Loud rang his voice; none were there even on the 
outskirts of the crowd who could not hear it: 

“Britric, once the King, thy people are absolved 
from their allegiance. In the name of the Most 
High Gods I say and declare that thou, who hast 
profaned the altar and hast mocked the holy rite of 
the Sacrifice, art verily accursed. Never within 
man’s memory has there been a King so bold, so 
blasphemous as thou.” 

Then Britric answered ; and though his voice was 
husky from fever and fasting, yet still was his mien 
commanding: 

“Thou wouldst have a sacrifice. Take me for 
sacrifice; and when thy knife releases my soul from 
out my body, up to the Gods will I go, and to them 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 


119 


will I declare, * Lo , for my people have I died , even 
as I lived. Very dearly do I love my people; and 
of the Most High 1 beseech a blessing for each one 
and all .’ ” 

Then the Arch-Druid’s face flushed purple with 
wrath; and in a voice as of a roaring bull he an- 
swered, 

“Again thou mockest and blasphemest the Most 
Holy! Well thou knowest that a sacrifice to the 
Gods must be clean and undefiled; but thou, 0 
Britric, art unclean, accursed!” 

But Britric’s eyes never wavered, nor was his 
proud head lowered; nor did he seem to heed or 
hear the angry reviling voice. 

Up to the skies he looked. Calm were they, 
blue, and smiling. So fair and bright the morning 
that it seemed as if even the elements laughed and 
mocked at the King’s anguish. 

Alone was he; no immortal spirit of truth had 
come to deliver him; no voice of the Unknown God 
rang forth from out the Heavens to pronounce, 
“This is a just man; touch him not!” 

But mayhap the moment was not yet come. 

High on the stones before the altar stood the ter- 


120 


THE VALIANT HEART 


rible Arch-Druid, and to the watching crowd his 
form seemed mighty with strength beyond the 
strength of mortals. 

“Britric, King erstwhile,” he said, “Britric the 
Outlaw now, — in the name of the Most High Gods 
I pronounce thee cursed henceforth for evermore. 
To the wilderness shalt thou go; branded with the 
marks of sin, clad in the garment of infamy. Now 
thou art cursed, no man may eat with thee nor 
drink with thee, nor buy nor sell with thee, nor 
give thee shelter, nor accept the labor of thy 
hands.” 

Stem and defiant the face of the King, and very 
silent the crowd; and in the eyes of the spearmen 
of the Guard, save only the Chief Captain, brooded 
woe and horror; for never within the memory of 
man had they heard so terrible a sentence. 

And the roaring voice of the High Priest came 
forth as a gust of storm wind: 

“Wiped out are thy marriage vows, 0 Britric. 
Thy wife is free; for the Gods unite not the flesh 
of the righteous with the flesh of the blasphemer. 
Nor mayest thou take to thine arms a woman ever 
again, save under the penalty that she, even as thou, 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 121 

must be accursed ! Dead shalt thou be to the world. 
Trampled in the dust thy name; let no man here- 
after dare to pronounce it.” 

Then at a sign of the potent wand, the spearmen 
unclasped from the King’s wrists and ankles the 
heavy iron fetters, and cut the thongs holding his 
arms tight to his sides. 

“Unbound are thy limbs,” said the Druid, “but 
bound for ever thy spirit. For even as the Gods 
gave into my hands their power on earth, so in the 
underworld do they enchain and bind the soul my 
voice declares accursed. 

“With the beasts of the forest shalt thou dwell, 
Britric the Outlaw, with the wolves and the wild 
cats and the enemies of man. And when thou diest, 
thy soul shall go down, deep down, into the under- 
world of darkness. For ever and for ever shalt 
thou gnash thy teeth among the demons. And the 
Gods will laugh at thee!” 

A moan of horror broke from the crowd. Then 
their voices rose in a hoarse murmur; for they 
thought how wicked a tyrant must their King have 
been in secret, to deserve so dark a sentence even 
despite his valor and his many acts of mercy! 


122 


THE VALIANT HEART 


“Tear off his tunic,” said the Arch-Priest to the 
javelin bearers; and reluctantly they tore and rent 
it away. Defend him they dared not; but love of 
him in their hearts they could not entirely crush out. 

“Cover him with the black robe,” commanded 
the same pitiless voice. 

And two novices came forward and clad Britric 
in a shapeless garment, black as midnight, coarse 
and rough so that the poorest hind would have 
scorned it; and this was the robe which marked 
him outcast. 

Then from the bards came a resounding burst of 
glad triumphal music ; and their voices rose melodi- 
ously, chanting a paeon of praise to the High Gods. 

And as they chanted, Britric in his black robe of 
shame stood rigid as a statue hewn in marble. But 
his eyes still shone, and to the Heavens he looked, 
thinking to see now, even now, a host of warrior 
spirits throng with their swords and trumpets to pro- 
claim, “Lo, this King is innocent 

But the Heavens were dumb ; and the murmur of 
the crowd waxed louder and rose to a roar; for the 
Arch-Priest had lifted his wand, and as if moved by 


THE MOST HIGH GODS 


123 


a spell the crowd, even with one voice and as one 
man shouted, “Woe to Britric!” 

But the men of the Guard stood silent and sad; 
save only the Chief Captain, — he of the heavy brows 
and smoldering eyes, — and lo, he laughed aloud. 



PART FOUR 






CHAPTER XV 


“to the unknown god” 

TT was early morning in the radiant springtime. 

Dew-drenched were the delicate wind-flowers 
and masses of fragrant violets on the hillsides north 
of the shining waters of Galilee. Very peaceful 
and rural these green slopes. But down in the city 
of Capernaum, already the stir and turmoil of traffic 
had begun. The Damascus road was thronged with 
travelers from afar: merchants with camel droves 
and pack-mules, beggars, pilgrims, wanderers; and 
every now and then a Roman chariot, yoked to 
horses from the Arab desert, would flash past at 
breakneck pace; or a Company of Foot soldiers, 
brisk and tireless, with heads erect and shoulders 
squared, would march along the dusty highway, — 
in vigor, discipline, and keen efficiency, the incarna- 
tion and the symbol of proud Rome. 

On the sun-bathed waters the fishermen were ply- 
127 


128 


THE VALIANT HEART 


ing their craft; and on the wharves and in the 
streets of Tiberias and Magdala on the west, Hippos 
towards the east, and Bethsaida and Capernaum 
north of the tranquil inland sea, the hum and buzz 
of multitudinous life was growing every moment 
louder and more insistent. So motley the throng 
swarming along the highways meeting in busy 
Capernaum, that no attention was attracted to a tall 
barbarian who towered above the other men, and 
who in a less multi-colored crowd could scarcely 
have escaped remark. 

Not even among the picked warriors of the re- 
nowned Tenth Legion could a finer figure have been 
seen; and though he wore the humiliating garb dis- 
tinctive oT a slave, his golden-brown hair, very fine 
and silky, his fair skin, and his deep gray eyes, 
suggested that a northern land of freedom must 
have given him birth. 

But in the service of Rome there were so many 
slaves from Gaul and chilly Alba, and from regions 
even more distant, that none among the crowd of 
Jews and Gentiles troubled to glance at the mighty- 
thewed barbarian whose innate nobility of bearing 
no menial dress could disguise. 


“TO THE UNKNOWN GOD” 


129 


On the slopes of Safed, north of Capernaum, 
stood the house of the gentle recluse Archias, the 
scholar who in his youth had made songs at the 
courts of Kings; the sage in whose veins flowed 
the blood of long-dead heroes who had vanquished 
the potent Persians at Marathon and in that sea- 
fight which has for ever hallowed the name of 
Salamis. 

Two score years it was since the soul of Archias 
had come into a world where the resounding glory 
of Rome had eclipsed the fame of his ancestral 
Athens. 

Of a conquered and impoverished race, without 
hope of wealth or power, yet was Archias gifted 
with a treasure no change nor chance could destroy: 
the memory of his forebears, whose bright tradi- 
tions of heroic valor, beauty and graciousness, and 
white-winged wisdom, fired and inspired him anew 
each day to train his intellect even as an athlete 
trains his muscles for the Olympic games. 

Very joyous had Archias been in his prime of 
manhood when he found a wife whose mind and 
soul were so nearly akin to his own that even as one 
spirit were he and she. 


130 


THE VALIANT HEART 


But seldom in this darkened, cramped existence 
may a man know Paradise on earth, except in fleet- 
ing glimpses; and scarce had lone revealed to her 
husband the harmonies of a true and perfect love, 
when the Gods drew her back into the other world 
(the world of Eternal Light whence she had de- 
scended but for a little while, to grant an ardent 
lover brief realization of his fairest dreams). 

Giving birth to lone the child, lone the mother 
passed by the narrow gates of death into the realm 
of the Immortals. 

And Archias, faithful to her memory, had lived 
nine years alone with his little daughter, and with 
three attendants: a Greek who was nurse to lone, 
and who cooked the simple meals and swept out the 
rooms each morning; a Syrian who hewed the wood 
and carried water, and went down into Capernaum 
with messages; and an aged slave who tended the 
fragrant garden. 

Very beautiful the garden of Archias, with its 
wealth of lilies, violets, and golden-eyed narcissus. 
Dignified the tall dark cypresses and spreading 
cedars; graceful the almond and pomegranate trees; 


“TO THE UNKNOWN GOD” 


131 


and, beyond the garden, very green and luxuriant 
the undulating slopes, wooded with ilex, bay, and 
palm, making a pleasant shade on the bright morn- 
ing. 

And joyous and merry the little maiden lone, who 
flitted hither and thither, swiftly, softly, singing to 
herself in a clear melodious voice, untroubled by 
care or foreboding. 

Her life had been even as a dream of sunlit tran- 
quillity and cloudless affection. Compounded of 
sunshine was her spirit; and fragrant her soul as the 
violets she wove into a chaplet. 

But for whom were her slender fingers weaving 
the dewy violets into a crown? For Isis, whose 
statue of white Parian marble gleamed from a 
circle of sweet bay trees? For Phoebus Apollo, 
whose beauty recalled the Golden Age when the 
Gods walked on earth? For Hermes, the messen- 
ger of the Gods? For Horus, the Son of Isis? 

Nay, for none of these! 

To an altar of stone, battered, time-worn, not 
even graceful of line nor decorated by the sculptor’s 
art, lone carried her fragrant chaplet. Lovingly 
and tenderly she offered it, her eyes agleam, her 


132 


THE VALIANT HEART 


flower-like face bowed reverently in honor of the 
Unknown God, to whom this altar had been dedi- 
cated by some forgotten worshiper in the distant 
past. 

lone clasped her hands, and prostrated herself, 
once, twice, thrice; and then stood looking up- 
wards to the translucent sky. 

When would the God descend to earth? How 
soon? He the Mysterious One whose very name 
was hidden; He the Deliverer, the Glorious, the 
Loving and Triumphant, whose face no man had 
seen? 

lone pondered. Never could she remember a 
time when her Father had not worshiped the Un- 
known God; for Archias each morning consecrated 
his life afresh to the noblest of the Gods, the Re- 
deemer Who was yet to come. 

Archias and his father before him, and again 
their ancestors, one to another handing on the an- 
cient promise, had served in patient faith this God 
of the Future, the King and Conqueror to be. 

From the days when Pythagoras founded his 
famous school of wisdom, many centuries bypast in 
Crotona, the tradition of the Hidden God had been 


“TO THE UNKNOWN GOD” 


133 


most loyally cherished. And in Archias, the Un- 
known God had an adorer pure in heart, magnani- 
mous in deed, and gracious in his words. 

Out from the marble portico, and across the 
paven court with its twinkling fountain, came 
Archias, to share in the devotions he had taught 
to his child. But before he turned into the grove 
of cypress leading to the ancient altar, he paused a 
moment and stood looking downwards to the south- 
east. 

Striding up one of the steep narrow pathways 
was a tall man in the garments of a slave, a figure 
which arrested his attention; and he looked at this 
man again, and yet again. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE BARBARIAN 

rPHE house of Archias, built of stone and of 
■** colored marble from the ruins of an ancient 
palace, stood out against the wooded background 
of plane, palm and cypress. 

The slave who, with long swift strides had 
mounted the hillside, opened the gate and entered 
the bright garden. 

He paused where two paths diverged ; for though 
the path facing him was plainly the way up to the 
house, a white-robed child was looking towards him 
from a cypress avenue. 

She ran forward with a welcoming gesture. 
Though the stranger’s dress seemed to proclaim 
him a slave, lone gazed up at him with wonder, for 
she thought him almost as noble looking as the 
statue of Apollo. So stately his figure, so proud 
his face, so keen his glance, that his garment of 
134 


THE BARBARIAN 


135 


slavery appeared to her but as the humble disguise 
in which a God might veil his greatness if he visited 
the earth to bring a blessing to the faithful. 

She spoke to him in Greek; but he answered her 
in Aramaic, his deep, gentle voice forming the 
words so slowly that she saw the tongue was foreign 
to him: 

“The house of Archias, the Greek Philosopher? 
A letter for him from his kinsman the Centurion 
Claudius Andronicus.” 

Scarcely would Apollo be a letter carrier, or 
speak in Aramaic, thought lone; but she was puz- 
zled by the slave’s appearance and his manner. 

Very gently he looked down upon her from his 
height; but though his words were hesitating, and 
he touched his forehead with the scroll he carried, 
saluting after the fashion of a slave, still lone 
could not reconcile his dress with his demeanor. 

“I will lead thee to Archias,” she answered, 
speaking this time in Aramaic as the slave had 
spoken; “and then will I give thee fruit and wine; 
and after thou art refreshed and rested I will show 
thee our ancient altar to the Unknown God.” 

The barbarian’s face lighted up with an expres- 


136 THE VALIANT HEART 

sion in which amazement, reverence, joy, were 
mingled. 

“The Unknown God!” he exclaimed, and his 
voice trembled. 

“Save only my father and myself and our small 
household,” said lone, “there are none I know who 
love Him.” 

“I also,” said the barbarian; “I alone of all my 
people love Him.” 

lone’s beautiful tranquil eyes gazed up at the 
stranger’s face with trusting admiration; 

“Our God has sent thee here,” she murmured, 
awestruck. 

But she spoke these whispered words in Greek, 
and the slave knew not what she was saying. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 

“ Claudius Andronicus 
to his kinsman Archias the Philosopher 
Salutation and Greeting. 

“Recallest thou thy sojourn in Rome many years 
past, and how thou wert ever welcome at the house 
of Caius Andronicus, since called back to the Gods? 

“Dost thou remember a boy, ten years of age, 
who spoke seldom but who listened much, to whom 
thou didst relate the way thine ancestors shattered 
the Persian fleet in the bay of Salamis? 

“He who was that boy would hearken to thee 
again. From Rome he has arrived in Capernaum 
with the Second Cohort of the Thirteenth Legion. 

“Little does he find to please him in this city of 
self-righteous priests, complacent pharisees, and 
greedy traders. Much would it gladden him to 
have speech of thee. 


137 


138 


THE VALIANT HEART 


“In Egypt he has served, and in Crete, in Cyprus, 
in the Libyan desert, and in Thrace and Macedonia. 
Yet is he still a Centurion at nine-and-twenty, 
though at that age his grandsire led the Fourteenth 
Legion. 

“To thee Claudius will come at noon on the tenth 
day from this, and stay till close on sunset, if thou 
wilt grant him welcome. 

“Wisdom and learning will he seek of thee, re- 
membering thee of old as one who embodied and 
maintained the high traditions of a more noble age 
than ours.” 

Such was the letter delivered into the hands of 
Archias by the barbarian slave. 

When the Roman Imperial officer arrived at 
the house of the Greek kinsman he had not seen for 
nineteen years, he came alone; no slaves to precede 
or attend him. And he stabled his own horse, and 
gave it food and water, ere he accompanied his host 
into the cool north room whence Archias looked 
out each day on the snows of lofty Mount Hermon. 

Archias, whose hair was prematurely gray, and 
whose recluse’s life tended to link him rather with 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 139 


the ancient past than with the hustling present, was 
obviously older than his Roman cousin. But 
though the Centurion showed youth and strength in 
his figure, his face was worn and thin. 

His features, bronzed under Egyptian suns, were 
clear-cut, stem and haughty; but very urbane and 
courteous was his manner; and in this courtesy was 
something direct, decisive, powerful, which bespoke 
him swift of initiative, forceful in action, and stead- 
fast in resolve. 

The scholar, fragile and delicate, looked at the 
soldier with an expression which was almost wist- 
ful. 

“In the world of ideas have I lived, alone with 
my thoughts and my dreams these many years,” he 
said, “but thou in the world of men.” 

“Time was,” replied the Centurion in his clear 
vigorous voice, “Time was when the world of 
thought and the world of action were one and 
the same. Since they are separated, noble ideas 
grow rarer, and action loses dignity and inspiration; 
for we live in the age of gold, which, alas, is far 
other than the Golden Age!” 

Archias had not looked to find in his kinsman 


140 


THE VALIANT HEART 


any disgust against an age which most Roman 
officers were very well content to take just as they 
found it. 

“Dreamest thou of the Golden Age? But for 
ever has it vanished! Vainly we yearn to call it 
back. Now tell me, provincial that I am, how goes 
the world? Is Rome magnificent and regal as in 
my youth?” 

“The Seven Hills stand where they did,” said 
Claudius; “and the Temple of Venus is thronged 
with worshipers as of yore. At first glance Rome 
to-day seems even the same immortal glorious city 
as of ten or twenty years agone. But either I grow 
less easy to please, or there are changes by no means 
for the better. Extremes of poverty and of luxury, 
of lawlessness and tyranny, are sharply conspicu- 
ous. The idle mob, those who are unemployed, 
and who reject employment, cumber the streets by 
day and lurk in the porticoes by night, using the 
cloak of darkness as a cover for vile crimes. The 
Tribune who would rise to power must cajole, be- 
fool, and flatter this blinded multitude, and buy 
popularity at the cost of truth and manhood. Not 
merit nor honesty prevail to-day; but craft and 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 141 


subtlety. And if a soldier presumes to try and 
bring to Caesar’s notice outrages against our Roman 
justice, then first must he court the minions of 
Caesar, mimes and buffoons and triflers, ere he be 
permitted to break in on the imperial seclusion. 
Then, like as not, Tiberius dismisses the vital ques- 
tion with a vague misleading promise, and falls to 
talking of the latest gladiatorial show.” 

The Centurion did not raise his voice, nor empha- 
size his words; yet beneath his surface calmness 
was an inner fire of steady indignation and im- 
personal disgust. 

“Rome' is infested,” he said, “with hordes of new 
rich men, in whose society it has become the fashion 
to seek relaxation; not for wit or talent or urbanity, 
of which they can boast little, but for their sumptu- 
ous repasts, and for the multiplicity of wines they 
press on needy patricians whose debts wax heavy 
and whose tastes are epicurean.” 

Archias sighed; “A mercenary age; but are not 
all ages mercenary?” 

“I fear,” said Claudius, “that even in the heroic 
era, even in the sternest days of Roman simplicity 
and valor, the noblest men were the most lonely. 


142 


THE VALIANT HEART 


And in thy beautiful Athens, too often poverty, 
exile, base ingratitude, betrayal, and a tragic death, 
were the rewards of the few who strove to elevate 
and purify the many.” 

Archias was silent; he had looked to the robust 
Imperial officer to bring with him an atmosphere of 
vigorous content; not this stem melancholy. 

“The thirst for gold,” mused Claudius, “is old 
as civilization. In thine ancestral Athens, and in 
Corinth, even in ancient Egypt, and in Persia at its 
proudest, there were men who bartered their very 
souls to be a little richer than their kind. But 
such creatures multiply in a degenerate age; and 
it appears to me that conquering Rome has learnt to 
copy all the vices of the conquered. I am no Stoic; 
little do I see to charm me in the story of Diogenes 
snarling in his tub, mistaking churlish misanthropy 
and dirty linen for the marks of independence and 
sublime philosophy. Nor do the Spartans of the 
past, save in their martial hardihood, rank in my 
mind among the most inspiring examples. There- 
fore thou needest not accuse me of a Spartan nar- 
rowness, if I tell thee it revolts me to see the spirit 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 143 


of Phoenician traders spreading subtly, impercep- 
tibly, throughout the Empire.” 

Archias made no comment, but his expression of 
sympathy drew the Centurion on. 

“Trade in honor, trade in woman’s flesh, old as 
the world this merchandise! And in vain I chafe 
at seeing it wax daily more flagrant. Far and wide 
the Phoenicians have carried their gross corruption. 
If rumor wrongs them not, the cult of their vile gods 
has crept even so far as distant Britain and foggy 
Western Alba.” 

“I knew not thou hadst served in Alba or in 
cloudy Britain,” said Archias. 

“Nor have I,” answered the Roman; “and, the 
barbarian slave I bought will tell me nothing as to 
the customs of his race and country.” 

Archias was puzzled; patience towards recalci- 
trant slaves was not a Roman virtue. 

“It seems,” he said, “that thou holdest not with 
the common custom among thy countrymen that if 
a slave withhold desired information it may be 
wrung from him by torture?” 

Claudius answered swiftly, 


144 


THE VALIANT HEART 


“In the army I am a strict disciplinarian, as any 
man in authority must be to-day, when so many 
recruits are drawn from the dregs of the populace 
in whose eyes humanity wears semblance of fear, 
and generosity seems weakness. Much care and 
labor it needs to transmute the base alloy into the 
iron of an efficient, loyal, trusty soldier. But even 
with my least promising recruits I prevail by asking 
of them nothing that I would not do myself, — rather 
than by arrogance and harsh brutality which savor 
more of old Assyrian fury than of Roman vigor. 
As to my slaves, very few can I afford. Those few 
I treat as men, not beasts. I would sell a slave if 
he offended; but never would I cause him to be 
tortured.” 

The Centurion rose and began pacing up and 
down the room. “Assyria, Babylonia, and Medo- 
Persia, — how did they fall? By their vices and 
their gross unmanly cruelties, which rotted them 
even when they seemed invulnerable. And shall 
we not take warning?” 

The Centurion paused a moment, as if the ex- 
pression of his thoughts was difficult. Then he 
said, 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 145 


“Throughout my twelve years’ foreign service, I 
have striven to observe and study the fashions and 
beliefs of all the various races with which I came 
in contact. From the present I have evolved my 
view of the past, and in the past sought the key 
to the future. But men’s inner selves I judge less 
by their professed beliefs and outward rank than 
by their actions. The noble character is noble even 
in chains; the base are base still after the caprice 
of Fortune or the mysterious working of Destiny 
has enthroned them in seeming majesty and tri- 
umph.” 

Claudius crossed to the north window whence he 
could look up towards Mount Hermon. 

“There,” he said, “until Rome intervened, the 
worshipers of Baal and Astoreth and Moloch used 
to stain the snows with the blood of children and 
young virgins, boys and maidens, offered to the im- 
placable and greedy gods they made in their own 
image.” 

Archias sighed; “A noble spirit, descending from 
the Heavens down to this chaotic earth, must needs 
awaken jealousy and hatred in base narrow souls. 
Thus the purest have been ever the most ill-fated. 


146 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The murder of Osiris in the Egyptian legend, the 
death of Socrates in actual fact, these are significant 
of the fate which in every age awaits him who un- 
masks the loathsomeness of evil. Men like to be 
deceived; they like to give their vilest impulses 
high-sounding names; and woe to him who offers 
them truth when they ask flattery! That each man 
must win his own salvation by a clean courageous 
life, by acts of justice and mercy, and by strenuous 
aspiration and achievement, is a stern demand. 
Only the warrior spirits will assent to it. The base 
and coward souls would buy the favor of their 
Deities by sacrificing the weak and helpless, — 
deeming the Deity can be vicariously served and 
thus propitiated.” 

Claudius paced up and down the room, his foot- 
steps clanking on the mosaic pavement. 

“I have dreamt of my own God,” he said, “One 
whom I find not in any Temple nor adored of 
any priest. In Him are blended all the highest 
attributes of heroic man, justice, truth, immutable 
valor; vigor and tenderness; the power to lead and 
to inspire, so gallantly, so compellingly, that even as 
soldiers willingly give their lives to win a victory 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 147 


for the leader who has shared their hardships, so 
might the votaries of this God think death and 
sacrifice of self but a small price to pay for the 
honor and happiness of serving One who can never 
err, One whose love is eternal.” 

Archias brightened at these words. 

“Knowest thou,” he said, “that many hundred 
years agone, Pythagoras in his school at Crotona 
taught to his initiates the need of preparation even 
for such a God as thou describest; One who is yet 
to come, and in whom the divinity of the unchanging 
heavens and the highest nobility of manhood’s as- 
piration is to meet, and walk the world in a mortal 
form.” 

Claudius pondered. “The Jews,” he said, “cher- 
ish some prophecy of a Messiah who is to redeem 
their race from servitude and then to rule the world. 
But Mars and Apollo help us, if we are to be ground 
down under the heel of the Hebrew priests and 
levites! Never was any race more narrow, more 
exclusive, more coldly arrogant. Rome stands for 
unity, for universitality, as well as nationality; but 
the Jews are provincial to the marrow of their bones. 
Even if a Messiah comes from the skies to raise 


148 


THE VALIANT HEART 


them, unless he will slavishly adapt his every utter- 
ance to suit the prejudices of their priesthood, and 
conciliate their jealous tempers, they will shut their 
ears against him. Like as not, they would mock at 
him or stone him.” 

“I have a Syrian among my servants,” said 
Archias, “and each time I send him down into the 
city, he returns with stories of one Jesus of Naza- 
reth, a Jew, whom he hears speaking to the fisher- 
men by the Sea of Galilee, relating many things in 
parables, and foretelling, for the righteous, doom 
then triumph, persecution and an ultimate victory. 
And my servant has heard the crowd muttering that 
the High Priest hates this Jesus and would have 
him silenced.” 

“Not readily can I believe good can come out 
of Nazareth,” said the Centurion; “but I will in- 
quire concerning this man Jesus. ‘Foretelling 
doom,’ thou sayest? Preaches he against our Em- 
pire?” 

“Nay,” said Archias. “When the seditious 
strove to find a pretext for rebellion by asking why 
should they, the Children of Jehovah, pay tribute to 
the foreign Caesar, this Jesus held up a denarius 


SOLDIER AND PHILOSOPHER 149 


and said Whose superscription see ye on this 
coin?’ ; and the crowd said ‘Ccesar’s’ Then he an- 
swered, ‘ Render unto Ccesar the things that are 
Ccesar’s; and to God the things that are God’s.’ 
Very grievously were those malcontents offended 
who had grumbled at the taxes; and yet more an- 
gered the Scribes and Pharisees who hoped to wreck 
the man by accusing him of treason against Caesar.” 

“Of what rank is this Jesus?” asked the Cen- 
turion. 

“No rank or wealth is his. Very poor and ob- 
scure his parents; but my Syrian servant declares 
them to be of the blood of the long-vanished dynasty 
of David, the heroic shepherd King, who slew the 
giant Goliath.” 

“Ah,” exclaimed the Centurion, “a fighting an- 
cestry, and not a priestly! Verily I shall inquire 
concerning this bold Nazarene.” 

“Nay, he is no warrior,” replied Archias. “He 
is a Rabbi, some say an Essene. But I hear, from 
those who listen to him speaking, that he has such 
gentle dignity and courtesy of manner as might 
grace a new Pythagoras. And, even as Pythagoras, 
they say he preaches the cult of a Supreme God, — 


150 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Father and King of all mankind, one whose love 
extends to every race and every people.” 

Claudius smiled ironically. “Then,” he said, 
“this Jesus will not please the Jews.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WHAT OF THE FUTURE? 

f J^HEN followed a long pause, broken only by the 
plashing of a fountain in the courtyard, and by 
the gentle sighing of the south wind in the cypress 
trees. 

It was that silence in which two friends who trust 
each other can each follow the train of his own 
thoughts without fear lest the other deem him 
churlish or unsocial. 

Abruptly Claudius broke the silence: “Didst 
thou remark a tall barbarian slave I sent up with my 
letter? He is honest as the daylight. In countless 
ways have I tested him, and not yet has he failed 
me.” 

“In what campaign didst thou capture him?” 
asked the Greek. 

“I bought him in Rome,” said Claudius; “I had 
not thought to add to the number of my slaves ; but, 

as I crossed the market, on my way to the Necropo- 
151 


152 


THE VALIANT HEART 


lis, I noticed him. Had he been a freeman, I 
should at once have endeavored to enlist him. As 
it was, I stopped and looked at him. He stood on 
the usual wooden platform, and had the inevitable 
card tied round his neck, with a statement, probably 
fictitious, of where the dealer bought him, and how 
much he cost, and what price he must fetch that 
day. A Phoenician trader and a hook-nosed Jew 
were bargaining against each other for him, and the 
Jew was trying to get the price reduced because of 
some scars defacing the fellow’s arms and breast 
and shoulders. The dealer, a fat greasy brute, 
was crying up the strength and value of this hand- 
some piece of merchandise; and through all the 
clamor the barbarian stood immovable as a statue, 
but with such an expression of scorn in his eyes 
that my heart warmed to him.” 

If Archias was mildly surprised to hear a Roman 
officer speak of a slave thus sympathetically, he was 
too well-bred to show his astonishment. 

“I know little of the arts,” resumed Claudius, 
“but were I the Maecenas to a rising sculptor, and 
were I ordering a statue of Vercingetorix as prisoner 
to Caesar, I could wish my artist no better model 


WHAT OF THE FUTURE? 


153 


than this stately barbarian, who stood regarding the 
hucksters as if they were but buzzing insects. Even 
so must Vercingetorix have scorned the Roman 
rabble, when they mocked at him as he walked in 
chains behind the chariot of Caesar.” 

“I well recall,” said Archias, “how thy grand- 
sire, Andronicus, related to me his own part in the 
contest of Caesar against that Gaul who held the 
armies of Rome at bay so long, and who in strategy 
and tactics, no less than in valor and iron resolution, 
showed genius second only to the genius of mightiest 
Julius.” 

“Yea,” said Claudius, “though greatly my grand- 
sire rejoiced in the ultimate and hard- won victory 
of our armies, yet he pitied the gallant barbarian 
Prince, who, after so prolonged and honorable a 
resistance, was doomed to die obscurely in a Roman 
dungeon, as soon as the crowd was glutted with the 
spectacle of seeing him walk through the streets 
in chains at the head of all the other captives.” 

“And so thou didst purchase this slave because 
he reminded thee of Vercingetorix, the stubborn foe 
of Rome!” Archias exclaimed. 

“The Jew retreated from the contest,” said 


154 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Claudius, “and the dealer was just about to close 
with the Phoenician’s offer, when I entered into 
competition with this Baal-worshiper. I rarely for- 
get a face, and I saw in this Phoenician one whose 
name is notorious in Alexandria, where he drives, 
both with Western and Eastern customers, a thriving 
trade in women; and kidnaps the women to save the 
expense of paying for them. The trade is uni- 
versal; but the Phoenicians conduct it in a manner 
against which I have deep-rooted prejudices. So 
rather than let the barbarian fall into the hands of 
this vile creature, — to be doorkeeper of a disgust- 
ing den of thieves and harlots, — I bought him my- 
self, though I could ill-afford the price. The Im- 
perial officer must pay at higher rates than a Phoeni- 
cian tradesman!” 

Archias was interested. “Of what race is this 
slave?” 

“A Gaul, the dealer said ; but by his appearance 
he might more probably be a Western Celt.” 

“Do the Western Celts worship an Unknown 
God?” asked Archias. 

“Never that I have heard.” 

“Strange,” mused the Greek; “for this barbarian 


WHAT OF THE FUTURE? 


155 


bent his head in reverence before an altar here in 
my garden, an ancient altar dedicated to the Un- 
known God.” 

The Centurion’s eyes brightened. “Perchance 
that Unknown God and the God of my dreams are 
one,” he said. “Would that this God might hasten 
the revelation of His light to the world of darkness!” 

“Every morning when I waken,” said Archias, 
“I pray for the final victory of pure love and mercy 
over hatred and confusion. And when I say ‘love,’ 
I think not of the worship of Venus- Aphrodite, bom 
of the foam of the sea, inconstant as the waves and 
tempests, beautiful with a beauty which deceives, 
enslaves, and tortures. I pray to the True Eros, — 
who gives wings to the mind and wafts the soul 
upwards to the Heavens. 

“Very far apart this dream of everlasting love, — 
immortal, deathless, — and the cruel love inspired 
by pitiless Aphrodite, who destroys far more than 
she creates. Yet both are covered by the word re- 
ligion.” 

“Oh, words!” said Claudius. “Since language 
was invented more often have words been used to 
deceive than to enlighten.” 


156 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Not from disappointed ambition was Claudius 
embittered — though his honesty had stood in the 
way of his prosperity, — not from thirst for fame, 
nor envy of the wealth of others had he grown 
cynical; but he was weighed down with that mysteri- 
ous deep-seated sorrow which feels the evils of the 
world as if responsible for them, — that keen im- 
personal capacity for entering in thought into the 
sins and follies of man, even while dwelling lonely 
and aloof. 

Craving a God to love and serve, — yet too keen- 
sighted, too robust of intellect not to remark the 
flaws, and worse than flaws in every official form of 
worship, — Claudius was seeking, searching, wait- 
ing; and he had almost begun to lose his hope of 
finding. 

Archias stretched out a slender hand and laid it 
on the Roman’s arm. 

“Thou art sad,” he said. “Is there aught 
by which old friendship can aid or cheer 
thee?” 

Claudius looked at him very gratefully. 
Archias had been the admiration of his boyhood; 
and the Centurion was one whose affections grow 


WHAT OF THE FUTURE? 157 

only the deeper in absence, the stronger beneath the 
relentless test of time. 

“Nay,” he said, “dear kinsman, not for myself 
I grieve, save that I am part of the vast whole; and 
I fear the whole may be infected with the poison 
of a disease which killed the ancient Empires and 
broke up the Greek Republics. When I read of the 
colossal power of Assyria, when I remind myself of 
the magnificence of Babylonia, when I reflect how 
Egypt’s monarchy and priesthood maintained un- 
broken sway for thousands of years, only to fall at 
last a victim to Cambyses, my heart sinks with a 
dread that even as these superb powers decayed 
from within, and then crashed down beneath the 
swords of younger and less luxurious races, so also 
must Rome fall. But I pray I may not live to 
see it.” 

“At first,” said the Greek, “the downward way 
slopes so gently and so imperceptibly that men tread 
it without even dreaming of any precipice ahead. 
But this catastrophe thou dreadest is surely very far 
distant! 

* Around the future Jove has cast 

A veil like night; he gives us power 


158 


THE VALIANT HEART 


To see the present and the past, 

But kindly hides the future hour, — 

And smiles when men with daring eye 
Would pierce that dread futurity.’ ” 

The Centurion recognized the quotation. “Ah,” 
he said, “but Horace could more safely be philo- 
sophical than I can, in that he lived further away 
from the day of reckoning.” 

“Thou dost think and question too much,” said 
the Greek. “Heroic but vain is it to strive to carry 
the weight of a future thou canst dread and yet art 
powerless to avert. Excessive brooding will eat 
away the springs of action. For me, to peer into 
the future may be safe, for I am a philosopher with- 
out disciples, a poet who no longer craves for read- 
ers. No man depends on me, nor woman neither, 
excepting only my little child lone, who lives among 
her flowers, and is herself a flower from the Para- 
dise of faithful love and undying memory. But 
for thee, Claudius, wiser will it be not to probe 
deeply into the secrets of the past and future; far 
wiser not to try and solve the riddle of the why 
and wherefore of existence. For that way lies 
deep sorrow.” 


WHAT OF THE FUTURE? 


159 


Claudius felt a sense of disappointment in the 
man he used to think so wise and learned; and yet 
the disappointment seemed unreasonable. He 
smiled kindly, patiently, and walked across to the 
window once more, and looked out at the distant 
snow-capped mountain towering high above the 
vine-clad hillsides and the flowering valleys. 

Pleasant the valleys and smiling. Very lonely, 
chill and steep the mountain. But Claudius more 
than suspected that in the world of thought and 
spirit the aspirant must climb the mountain before 
he may presume to teach the inmates of the valley. 

“My kinsman,” said Archias, “wilt thou not greet 
thy cousin, my daughter lone?” 

The Centurion turned swiftly. 

In the archway leading from the inner court stood 
the most lovely child he had ever seen, — so lovely 
that the light of another world seemed shining 
through her fearless eyes. 

For a moment he paid her the homage of silence. 
He was thinking that there must be somewhere in 
the universe a God of perfect harmony; and the 
child lone, in her exquisite unconscious beauty, 
seemed as a Messenger from the Unknown God. 



PART FIVE 








CHAPTER XIX 


ANGUISH 



HEN Britric’s sad eyes gazed towards the 


v ’ mountains of Bashan, Moab, and Edom, glow- 
ing pink and orange, purple and deep red beneath 
the cloudless sky, or when he walked by the side of 
the swift-flowing Jordan and listened to the choir 
of birds which sang among the graceful flowering 
trees fringing its banks, his heart pined and yearned 
for the wind-swept moors and rugged hills of his 
own country. The shining waters of the Dead Sea, 
reflecting as in a mirror of steel the mountains on 
either side, gave him no sense of comfort or uplift- 
ment. He longed the more for a glimpse of a win- 
ter sunset over the seas of Western Alba. 

The brilliant golden sunshine, the luxuriant mass 
of exquisite flowers, the springs and streams and 
fountains, all in themselves so beautiful, seemed but 
to mock his desolation. 

Cloudy skies and lonely moors, and the scent of 


163 


164 


THE VALIANT HEART 


heather after rain, haunted his memory; and he 
wearied of the unchanging sunlight. 

The motley crowds, Syrians, Egyptians, Greeks 
and Parthians, warrior Persians, mighty-thewed 
Ethiopians, Arabs from the desert, and Jewish 
women carrying water- jars, — all these, in ever- 
changing phantasmagoria of color, confused and 
fatigued him. 

In the service of the Centurion Claudius, who 
drew him a rough map of the country for his guid- 
ance, he went on many journeys through Samaria 
and Judea, carrying important letters; and gradu- 
ally he learnt enough of the Aramaic language to 
facilitate his intercourse whether with men of the 
towns or from the desert. But from all, excepting 
only the Centurion, and the Grecian sage, and the 
beautiful child lone, he was separated by an im- 
passable gulf ; and even towards these three he felt 
very ill at ease, for what was he in their eyes but a 
slave? 

His sorrows seemed as a prison wall, shutting 
him into everlasting solitude, — a solitude peopled 
with memories of anguish, unrelieved by any glim- 
mer of hope. 


ANGUISH 


165 


Each day, while occupied in the labors of a slave, 
inwardly he was living the past over and over again. 
Sleep brought him too brief oblivion; and he woke 
every morning with a sinking at his heart, and with 
the picture before him of Gisela turning her face 
away. 

When Gisela failed him he had thought he drank 
to the dregs the poisoned cup. But no sooner had 
he drained the bitter cup than it seemed magically 
to fill again; for the anguish he had suffered in 
the dungeon had been deepened and intensified 
when he confronted the multitude and heard the 
cries of execration from his people, who erstwhile 
had praised him. 

If Gisela had been constant, — though he must 
never see her again, — if she had vowed to remember 
him in love, not even the treachery of the Arch- 
Druid and the fickleness of all his people could 
have broken his fiery heart. But Gisela’s soft 
white hand had inflicted a wound which pierced his 
very spirit. Had she been brave and faithful, he 
could have felt the hidden presence of the God of 
Love and Mercy even in his darkest hour; and, with 
that presence to sustain him, not all the torture evil 


166 THE VALIANT HEART 

minds could invent and cruel hands inflict would 
have brought utter darkness to his soul. 

But the devastating agony of being branded out- 
cast and forsaken, shamed in the eyes of all his 
subjects, cursed in the name of the High Gods, had 
come so swiftly after Gisela’s abject miserable de- 
sertion, that the grief and loneliness of Britric 
seemed to transcend the power of human brain and 
spirit to endure and not go reeling into madness. 
Yet he had still endured, though his God and his 
Beloved both had failed him. 

As in a nightmare he had wandered away into 
the forest, knowing that now he had become more 
vile in the eyes of his own subjects than even the 
most savage beasts. 

While the roar of the crowd was booming in his 
ears, and the words of the curse pierced his soul 
like poisoned arrows, he had been conscious of no 
physical weakness. His blood burned in his veins 
like fire; the pain of his undressed wounds stabbed 
him into yet keener consciousness. 

No merciful faintness laid its gentle touch on his 
brain to blunt the edge of his sufferings. The very 
strength of his body, the unquenchable vitality of 


ANGUISH 


167 


his soul, had become new instruments of torture. 

The anguish of his spirit overflowed from his 
heart into every fiber of his being, until he mar- 
velled how it was possible to carry in a human 
frame such an immeasurable grief, — grief which 
seemed to rise up out of an abyss of age-long dark- 
ness. 

After that terrible morning at the Stones of Sacri- 
fice, calm and storm, sunlight and starlight, dawn 
and sunset, all had become the same to Britric. No 
glimmer of hope could reach the pit of darkness 
where his spirit was enchained. 

Nothing was left to him, save courage; that cour- 
age which not even despair itself can utterly quench. 

Though there was none to see him in the wilder- 
ness, Britric held his head high; nor did he utter a 
groan or lamentation. In the silence of midnight, 
when sleep forsook him and the gnawing pains of 
slow starvation tore at his vitals, he set his teeth 
and endured, forbearing to execrate his enemies. 
Being cursed so heavily, the very thought of 
cursing others nauseated him. So entirely did he 
loathe the tyranny of the Druids, so blasted was he 
by their hatred, that he clung more resolutely to the 


168 


THE VALIANT HEART 


thought how greatly he had loved, even although his 
love had been so ill-requited. 

As the days and nights wore on, and Britric could 
get no food but roots and leaves, his ravenous hun- 
ger made increasing inroads on his bodily strength, 
till at last the hand of death seemed hovering over 
his head in readiness to strike. 

Death, if the Druids’ words were true, would 
mean for him no release from pain and sorrow, but 
rather the beginning of tortures worse than any yet 
inflicted. 

But Britric in his innermost heart, doubted the 
power of the Druids to bind him all through Eter- 
nity. Might not Death come as a messenger from 
the Divine Ones, to deliver him from the cruelty 
of arrogant and pitiless mortals? 

Unconquerable is the warrior spirit! Rend it, 
mock it, torture it, even pronounce it burnt to aghes, 
dead for ever, yet out of the ashes of doom the 
valiant one arises reborn like the phcenix. But the 
fiery agonies of the rebirth of valor resemble so 
closely the pangs of death, that Britric thought his 
final hour was approaching. He dragged his hun- 


ANGUISH 


169 


ger-wasted limbs over an undulating stretch of 
moor, whence he could gaze out to the sea. There 
would he die; there, within sound of the familiar 
waves and waters, might the tempest in his heart be 
stilled. For the last time he would watch the set- 
ting of the sun; and as its glowing ball of fire sank 
beneath the far horizon, his own tormented life 
would sink and vanish. 

But to walk across the moor seemed an achieve- 
ment almost beyond his failing strength. His 
limbs faltered, his tongue clave to the roof of his 
mouth; and though he could feel the breath of the 
sea on his face, his eyes were so dimmed and 
clouded that as he looked over to the west to watch 
the sunset, he could see nothing but a veil of thick 
impenetrable blackness. 

Through the blackness came voices in a foreign 
tongue; many voices; and one decisive, masterful, 
sounding out above the others. 

Instinctively Britric’s right hand went to where 
his sword should have been; but his fingers touched 
only the coarse black robe, the symbol of his degra- 
dation. Nevermore might the outcast wield a 
sword or battle-ax. 


170 THE VALIANT HEART 

In his left hand he held a branch he had broken 
from an oak tree; and very wearily he wondered 
whether with this he could make semblance of re- 
sistance. To die fighting, instead of inch by inch of 
horrible starvation, die in action, even if he had 
only an oaken staff against a score of foemen, this 
would be death for a man, and not the death of a 
beast. 

The veil of darkness moved, wavered, and paled 
to gray; but did not lift; and Britric listened, and 
strove to discern whether the strange tongue he 
heard was that of pirates from Ultonia or more dis- 
tant Gaul, or possibly even from far Phoenicia. 

Blindly but resolutely he staggered forward to- 
wards the sound of the voices. But before he could 
reach them, he stumbled over a fallen tree, and 
crashed down like an oak which the storm breaks in 
fury because the monarch of the forest will not 
bend. 

An icy blackness swallowed him, and he thought 
the end had come. 

But the moment when a man says to himself, 
“This is the end,” may mark the end of one stage 


ANGUISH 


171 


of his testing and the beginning of another fiery 
ordeal. 

Very longhand rough and uphill is the way of the 
warrior soul, and many a defeat must he endure be- 
fore his final victory. 

When Britric awakened, it was not into the life 
after death, but into a new captivity on earth. 

Carried away by slave-raiders, as human cargo 
destined to be sold in the market-place of Rome, he 
felt more desolate, more helpless, more forsaken 
of Gods and men, than even when he had wandered 
starving on the shores of his own kingdom. 

Yet his Roman captors were less cruel than the 
Druids. They brought him wine to slake his thirst ; 
they gave him food, and they put unguents and linen 
bandages on the wounds his pious tormentors left 
uncovered. These good offices the slave-dealers 
performed, not out of gentleness or in compassion, 
but because a higher price would be procurable for 
a handsome strong barbarian than for one whose 
strength and beauty had been broken by ill-treat- 
ment. 

Stifled and nauseated in the hold of their ship, 


172 


THE VALIANT HEART 


there remained to Britric only one satisfaction, — 
that these traders did not know whom they had 
chanced to capture. Never should it pass his lips 
that he had been a King and leader of men. 

Many a Monarch proud Rome had dragged at the 
chariot-wheels of her triumphant Generals; many 
a nobly-born warrior of Gaul had been enslaved to 
Caesar; but never in Britric should Rome be aware 
of degrading one who had been King of Western 
Alba! 

To this resolution, made in the first moment of 
returning consciousness, Britric adhered even after 
the Centurion Claudius had bought him in the 
market, and had asked his lineage and country. 

The wounds of his body healed rapidly; but the 
wounds of his spirit opened anew each day; and the 
more he regained his physical strength, the more 
sharp the torment of his imprisoned soul, the more 
flaming his inward rebellion against Fate, the more 
ravenous his craving for love, action, honor, and 
all the human joys now and henceforth for ever 
denied to him. 

The hunger for love was the most devastating of 


ANGUISH 


173 


all. He loved Gisela when she worshiped him as 
her deliverer; he loved her even when she turned 
her face away. But her shrinking from him, as if 
he had become unclean and loathsome, was so ter- 
rible a consequence of the vile torments wreaked by 
the cruel Druids on his body, that the memory of it 
grew every day more bitter. 

Gisela had abhorred the ugliness of his wounds, 
but paused not to think how he had gained those 
wounds by striving to rescue helpless victims whom 
no other man had dared to champion. 

Had she truly loved him, then in the hour of his 
anguish her love must have shone out unclouded, 
even as his for her. 

Alas, no star was Gisela; no gift from the Im- 
mortals! As a flickering torch was her love, giving 
light while sheltered from the storm-winds, but in 
the first harsh blast of adversity so quickly quenched 
in darkness that eternal night seemed to engulf the 
soul of Britric. 

Never could he forget her. The love he gave, he 
gave without conditions; nor could he recall it and 
take back his word, although what once had been his 
joy was now his ceaseless sorrow. 


174 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Through life into death, and beyond the gates of 
death into the other world, he must carry in his 
spirit the grief of loving poor Gisela. 

And, alas! his love and his forgiveness had no 
magic to release her from the men at whose com- 
mand she had withheld from him even one word of 
greeting and farewell. She had abandoned him be- 
cause the others were the stronger. Yet why should 
she deem that those who tortured Britric would be 
pitiful to her? Safe from the sacrificial knife she 
must be, for the offering to the Gods must be a 
virgin. But there were ways of sacrifice less swift 
than pouring out the heart’s blood on the altar. 

Back into Britric’s memory came Gisela’s quiver- 
ing terror of the Captain-in-Chief. And now that 
Britric was gone, there was no barrier, no shield, 
between her and the man she dreaded. 

Better had she shared the curse. Better to wander 
forth into the wilderness, better to starve and die 
the death of an outlaw, than to live enslaved to the 
Chief Captain. 

Britric pictured her snared like a bird in a net, 
consumed by the cruel lust of one v/ho rated a 
woman lower than a hound. 


ANGUISH 175 

In dreams Britric could hear Gisela sobbing; and 
in his waking hours she haunted him. 

If the Chief Captain wearied of her, — and never 
yet had he been faithful to a woman, — who in all 
the land would give her refuge? 

It seemed to Britric that her cry of despair 
reached him silently from the ends of the earth. 
And though his outward self-control remained un- 
broken, and his bodily strength did not give way, 
his inward spirit was as a furnace burning and 
seething. 

In the streets he could not pass a miserable de- 
graded woman, nor could he hear a woman slave 
chidden or punished, without that woman seeming 
to look at him with the terrified eyes of Gisela in 
the dungeon. 

Nor could he forget the seven maidens he had 
striven to rescue from the sacrificial knife; victims 
so little cognizant of mercy that they shivered in 
fear of him even when he severed their bonds! 

In vain he had sought to avert the doom of these 
the chosen victims; for the Druids ruthlessly en- 
forced the sacrifice as soon as his protesting voice 
was silenced. And no God of Love and Mercy 


176 


THE VALIANT HEART 


interposed to blast the tyrants and to save the out- 
raged maidens. 

Very bitter it seemed to Britric that by his com- 
passion for these maidens he lost not only his 
crown but the woman who was his dear and only 
love. 

He had so completely trusted Gisela that even 
now he strove to justify this trust. Surely her turn- 
ing away was rather the blasting spell of the Arch- 
Druid than her own deliberate choice? 

Yet not all the Druids in the world could have 
persuaded him to turn away from her! 

Scarcely can a true and constant lover under- 
stand inconstancy. Easier could Britric see the 
causes for the jealousy and hate of the Arch-Druid, 
than he could comprehend how the ecstatic sweet- 
ness of Gisela’s passion could be changed to chill 
repugnance. 

A voice in his heart seemed to whisper that if it 
was sheer terror that had mastered her then, and 
driven all love out of her soul, terror still darker 
gripped her now. 

That she lived and suffered he doubted not. 
Were she dead and at peace, her shuddering misery 


ANGUISH 177 

would not be reaching him across space in soundless 
waves. 

His agonized longing to help and save her tore at 
his heart and spirit. To the Unknown God 
he prayed; but the Gods were blind; the Gods were 
deaf; the Unknown God must be a dream! 

Yet Britric knew that if Fate put him back at the 
parting of the ways, what he had done before, this 
would he do again. 

No matter how terrible the cost, even if there 
should be no Loving God, Britric could not repent 
his proud defiance of the Druids. Never would 
the son of his Mother have bought safety at the cost 
of murdering poor helpless women, in the shedding 
of whose blood the Gods were thought to delight. 
If the Gods were verily so lustful, so cowardly, 
as to demand the sacrifice of innocent young 
maidens, well had Britric refused their hideous 
peace! Better this exile, ruin, and captivity, better 
disgrace in the eyes of men, and relentless anger 
from the Gods, better even an eternal curse, than 
to have sold his manhood to the Gods of the Arch- 
Druid ! 

As he stood on the banks of the Dead Sea, from 


178 THE VALIANT HEART 

the depths of his spirit he prayed to the Unknown 
One: 

“God Eternal and All-seeing, if any God there 
be; God of Justice, God of Valor, God of Pity, de- 
liver my wretched people, save and rescue my Be- 
loved! With me do what Thou wilt; for though 
my heart be broken, yet shall my soul remain un- 
shaken. From the deeps I cry to thee, and from 
the darkness! Save my people!” 

The sunlight sparkled gaily on the waters; the 
song-birds chirruped; the cloudless skies seemed 
only to scorn his sorrow. 

And Britric sighed. It seemed as if there were 
no God of Mercy. Or if there might be such a 
God, He — even as Gisela — turned his face away. 


CHAPTER XX 


MASTER AND SLAVE 

HPHE morning after Claudius returned from his 
visit to the Greek philosopher, he sent for the 
barbarian. 

“Go out into the town,” he said, “and mingle 
with the people; and listen and hear what they say 
of one Jesus from Nazareth, whose preachings of 
late are making no little stir. And if thou findest 
this man, say to him ‘Claudius, a Centurion in the 
Second Cohort, Thirteenth Legion, asks thee to 
speak with him at his house.’ Then bring him 
hither; and escort him courteously.” 

At nightfall Britric returned alone; “Jesus of 
Nazareth,” he said, “is not in Capernaum; men say 
he has gone into Judea. Many speak well of him; 
some deride him; and the Jew priests say ‘He hath a 
devil!’ ” 

“Didst thou learn what manner of man he is?” 

179 


180 


THE VALIANT HEART 


“I asked ‘how may I know him if I see him?’ 
He is tall and comely, the people say; well made 
and straight; his eyes searching; quick to re- 
prove the arrogant, hut prompt to melt in tenderness 
towards the suffering and feeble. Very courteous 
in speech, though grave. Some have seen him 
smile; a few have seen him weep; but none have 
ever seen him laugh. His following are fishermen 
and peasants.” 

Many weeks passed, but the Nazarene did not 
return to Galilee. 

The sun blazed more fiercely each day; the dust 
in the roads swirled in stifling clouds; and the burn- 
ing breath of the sirocco came blowing afar from 
the desert, seeming to gather strength as it came. 

Then were three of the slaves in the Centurion’s 
household smitten with an epidemic fever. But 
the barbarian went about his work with haughty pa- 
tience and unflagging energy, little aware that his 
resolute stern eyes and his unconscious dignity had 
won him the Centurion’s respect, and had singled 
him out as of a different order of creation from the 
other slaves. Some of his fellow servants hated 


MASTER AND SLAVE 


181 


him for his superiority; others feared him; just one 
admired him. 

By day he toiled incessantly, nor looked for any 
repose even in the scorching hour of noon. By 
night he watched over the fever-stricken slaves; and 
brought them pure water to moisten their parched 
lips; and in Aramaic — and sometimes in his North- 
ern tongue they understood not, — he murmured 
words of pity. 

Of his own health he seemed careless; and so un- 
wearying was he that his master, ever observant, 
suspected him to be goaded day and night by an un- 
sleeping sorrow. 

The happy can rest, and the lazy, and the utterly 
exhausted; the earthy soul can repose in stupor of 
indolence; the watery soul may be lulled like the 
waves from tossing agitation to a brief delusive 
calm; the airy soul can float into dream-regions of 
mystical peace. But the fiery soul, initiated into 
sorrow, fights inwardly and suffers ceaselessly, — 
defies despair, and stands up boldly to the sword- 
thrusts of implacable Fate. But to ask that fiery 
being to “rest” in the throes of such fierce warfare 
is a mockery as if to bid a prisoner “sleep” while 


182 


THE VALIANT HEART 


gaolers sear his flesh with red hot irons. So mused 
Claudius, divining in the barbarian something of his 
own deep melancholy of soul and constant activity 
of mind. 

Scarcely had the slaves recovered, when the mas- 
ter sickened and fell ill; and it was the barbarian 
who tended him patiently, tirelessly, seeming im- 
mune from fever as from fatigue. 

More than once the Centurion thought, “How 
excellent a soldier would this Northman make.” 

When the fever had left Claudius, and he was 
lying in the after-languor, — very weary of body 
and restless of brain, — he began speaking to Britric 
on the arts of leadership, the examples of the heroic 
dead, the might of Rome, and the mental qualities 
by which Rome’s great dominion had been won and 
vigorously maintained. He spoke to test the cali- 
ber of the barbarian’s intellect. 

Then Britric’s spirit glowed and leapt into a 
flame of grief to think that never again would 
he march at the head of his own warriors. Very 
bitter that not even in exile could he win name 


MASTER AND SLAVE 


183 


or fame or honor. Of what avail the strength 
of a man, the ardor of a man, the aspirations of a 
man, when the activity of manhood was forbidden? 
How long, how long, must he endure this living 
death? 

The Centurion, seeing the despair of the caged 
eagle in his eyes, uttered at last the question, “Hast 
thou been a warrior?” 

The words were an interrogation; the tone an 
affirmation. 

Britric bowed his head. He could not deliber- 
ately deceive the master for whom he had grown to 
cherish a trusting affection. But reveal his lineage 
and race, — this would he never do! 

“Thou hast commanded men?” said the Roman, 
and he spoke almost as to an equal. 

Then the exile’s long-tried fortitude was shaken. 
The past rose up, and a shuddering sigh broke from 
his lips. For he felt vividly again the joyous exal- 
tation of his home-coming after his crucial victory, 
that victory by which he won respect and plaudits 
from a formidable foeman and from all his 
people. 

“Yea, Claudius, Noble One,” he said, “very long 


184 


THE VALIANT HEART 


ago I led men into battle. But question me no 
more.” 

The unwavering eyes of the Roman looked stead- 
fastly into the eyes of the slave. And while the 
slave guarded the secret of his bygone rank, the 
master thought that even thus, noble, gallant, un- 
broken in spirit though doomed of Fate, might 
Vercingetorix have appeared, when he flung his 
sword and shield at the feet of Caesar, and surren- 
dered himself a sacrifice to save his people. 

Claudius warmed to the man whose gaze met his 
so resolutely, so unflinchingly; and he said, “Very 
faithfully hast thou served me. And now I will 
give thee thy freedom.” 

Britric gazed at him astonished. Then sadly he 
answered, “Alas, most gracious Claudius, thy mercy 
is unavailing. An exile till death am I; and to the 
exile ‘freedom’ is but an empty word. A servant 
and a slave must I be; and where in all the length 
and breadth of the Roman Empire, could I find a 
master more truly noble than thyself?” 

Claudius made no reply; he was wondering again 
why he felt more drawn to this reticent barbarian, 
more nearly kin to him in spirit, than to some of the 


MASTER AND SLAVE 185 

Roman warriors and Governors he had known and 
worked with, who had seemed to him degenerate, 
unworthy of their great traditions. 

He sighed wearily. The lamps had burned low; 
the night was very still; and in the stillness he lis- 
tened and waited as if for an answer to some silent 
question. 

Britric, too, watched and waited. But for what 
was he waiting? For the dawn? But dawn 
brought him no comfort; each day to him was but 
as every other day. 

No sound broke the hush, till Claudius stirred 
on his couch, restlessly, impatiently. 

In an instant Britric was beside him with a goblet 
of watered wine. Raising him gently, he held the 
goblet to his lips. 

Little did the master suspect that the servant was 
consumed with a thirst more burning than his own. 

The moon waned ; the stars paled ; and dawn was 
approaching when Claudius shut his eyes and 
slept. 

Then Britric cast himself on the floor. But he 
was beyond sleep. All through the night he had 


186 


THE VALIANT HEART 


endured and concealed sharp pains, which now be- 
came so violent that he quivered from head to foot. 
His brain seemed on fire, and his body was tor- 
mented even as on the hideous day in the dungeon 
of the Druids. And again in his ears sounded a 
roar, as on the frightful morning when the people 
had reviled him. 

He listened. Without, there was yet stillness; 
not even the stirring of the wind in the palm trees. 
The roar he heard was but a phantom horror! He 
set his teeth and strove anew to endure. All his 
misery he might have borne with that inner exalta- 
taion which comes from consciousness of bravery, 
could he have carried away the memory of a loving 
farewell from the slave he had raised to be a Queen. 
Alas, why had she herself defiled her own fair 
image in the shrine of his heart? Gone for ever 
her adoring words and glances; gone her soft 
caresses and her passionate self-surrender; faded 
and blurred the sweet endearing memories, blotted 
out in the black moment when she turned her face 
away. 

Thus he saw her always; thus she was branded 
upon his soul; and many a time he wondei'ed why 


MASTER AND SLAVE 


187 


must her image be unfading? Why did the inward 
wound bleed each day anew? Why did he not 
grow accustomed to his desolate existence? How 
much longer could he conceal, day after day, this 
consuming hunger of a heart which sorrow, depri- 
vation, despair itself, roused only into more flaming 
and intense emotion? 

Terrible the Gods’ gift to man of an immortal 
spirit; for an immortal spirit cramped in a mortal 
body seems as captive exile. 

Britric stifled a groan ; his bodily pains had been 
fast increasing as the fever gripped him. Very 
ardently he hoped that the sword of Death would 
grant him release from a life in which there was no 
gleam of hope nor any flicker of joy. 

The Gods he feared not; never could he credit 
that the Sublime Immortal Ones would stoop to 
cruelty and hatred. When Death should open the 
gates into the other world, then would he, Britric, 
son of Britric, stand up and face the Gods and 
boldly declare, 

“Lo, Divine Ones, gladly I greet ye and salute 
ye! Weigh me, and give judgment! Proclaim to 
me if I have been a coward?” 


188 


THE VALIANT HEART 


And the Gods — if any Gods there be — must 
answer, 

“Never shall it be said, neither on earth nor in 
the skies, that Britric son of Britric surrendered his 
soul to craven fear.” 

Then would the God of Gods, the King of Kings, 
the Great Unknown God, unveil His face and say to 
Britric, 

“Faithfully hast thou served Me, remembering 
the Light in the abyss of darkness. Therefore will 
I redeem and save thy people.” 

Even as Britric looked thus to be set free from 
the prison of his life, a sudden faintness came upon 
him, as if a cold hand touched his brow and blinded 
his eyes. 

He gasped for breath and shivered. And in that 
moment Claudius awakened. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE MESSAGE 

HHHE stars glittered golden in a sky of darkest 
sapphire. The night was still; not even a 
breath of wind to fan the drooping lilies or to whis- 
per in the cypress trees. And Archias, — praying 
alone and silently before the altar of his mysterious 
Unknown God, — felt no thrill of exaltation, no ec- 
static soaring of his spirit above earthly loss and 
sorrow. Rather he felt that weary dark depression 
which treads so closely on the heels of man’s brief 
moments of upliftment. 

On such a night he craved to feel the presence of 
his dead and ever-beloved wife lone speaking 
through the hush and promising him joyous reunion 
in a world beyond the stars. But the myriad stars 
mocked him; and in the silence there seemed to be 
no revelation, no message of comfort, — only a 
dreary emptiness. 


189 


190 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The very perfume of the lilies, the blackness of 
the cypresses, oppressed him. The lilies spoke of 
youth long past, never to be regained; and the 
shadow of the cypresses was as the shadow of the 
grave. 

Archias sighed impatiently, and turned away 
from the altar. 

After many years seclusion, study, contempla- 
tion, aspiration, and resolute searching for a creed 
which might bring calm contentment, he felt the dis- 
gust and weariness which inevitably follow too pro- 
longed a course of mental application without re- 
lief of change or movement or any variety of 
scene. 

The visits of his Roman kinsman — while they had 
stimulated and interested him — had undermined 
the placidity of his outward habits; and, breaking 
in on his detached and contemplative philosophy, 
had re-awakened him to a disturbing consciousness 
that life is neither a dream nor a calm experiment 
in thought or theory. It is a battle, which rages 
without truce or respite. 

Archias paced slowly up and down the avenue of 
cypress. He was not old in years; yet the springs 


THE MESSAGE 191 

of youth, of initiative, of hope, of energy, seemed 
broken in him. 

Claudius had come to him for wisdom, inspira- 
tion, comfort. And what had he given? What, 
in truth, had he to give? Nothing but conjectures, 
uncertain hopes, poetic dreams; and memories, 
those haunting memories which seemed to have 
come with him into this world from some far re- 
gion, the alluring name of which embodies man’s 
eternal longings — Paradise! 

Archias raised his hands in impotent protest 
against his loneliness, and against the whispering 
voice in his heart which would not let him rest. 

What of his dreams, his fancies, his most melod- 
ious poems, which had seemed like echoes of sub- 
lime eternal music? What if all this ecstasy and 
beauty was illusory? What if the Unknown God 
were but a figment of imagination, a mirage in the 
desert? What if love itself had only been illusion? 

“Vanity, vanity, all is vanity,” said the inner 
voice. 

But even as Archias bowed his head and was 
surrendering his mind and soul to this sluggish, 
^subtly powerful stream of blinding, dull depres- 


192 


THE VALIANT HEART 


sion, a cool wind blew around him, suddenly, like a 
breath from the spirit-world he was denying. And 
it seemed to him as if lone stood before him, in- 
visible, yet piercing him with her loving, reproach- 
ful eyes, — eyes which never in earthly life had 
needed to reproach him. 

Then he strove to speak, imploring one word, 
one sign to show that love is everlasting, and the 
soul’s life quenchless. 

But his voice was powerless; no words could he 
find to utter the longing of his heart, the immeasur- 
able weariness and hunger. 

Then he covered his face in shame and remorse 
that he, to whom had been granted in the flower of 
youth a perfect love, a reality more beautiful than 
even his fairest dreams, he to whom had been re- 
vealed the mercy of God reflected in the pure heart 
of a woman, he to whom had been entrusted the 
care of a child’s soul, so loving, fearless, tranquil, 
joyous with the joy of generous unsuspecting inno- 
cence — he on whom the Gods had lavished these 
gifts, so far beyond his merit or deserving, — could 
have presumed to doubt and question and be ab- 
jectly despondent. 


THE MESSAGE 


193 


“Ungrateful man,” he exclaimed of himself, 
“what are thou that the Gods should be so patient 
with thy feebleness?” 

And he, who had secretly prided himself on his 
clean life, his contempt for place and wealth, his 
loyal fidelity to the dead, his steady devotion to the 
Gods, now saw himself weak and wavering. 

The steadfast, resolute eyes of Claudius seemed 
to look at him, affectionately yet in disappoint- 
ment, as if to say, “Is this the one to whom I came 
for guidance?” 

And Archias felt that in the sight of the Su- 
preme Unchanging God, Claudius was the better 
man, the more deserving of initiation into eternal 
mysteries, more trained and fitted for the power 
which only the valiant deserve and only the valiant 
can be trusted never to misuse. 

Then Archias was humbled; and he prayed, 

“God of the High Heavens, God of Sun and 
Moon and Stars, God the Creator, the Eternal 
Father, the predestined Conqueror, grant me that 
I may yet be worthy of the friendship of that brave 
unflinching soldier.” 


194 


THE VALIANT HEART 


The myriad stars waned to a silvery pallor, and 
the sapphire of the sky grew deep almost to black- 
ness, before the golden shafts of dawn shot their 
arrows of light from the horizon, and the blue- 
white snows upon Mount Hermon glittered and 
glowed into a rosy warmth of brightness. 

All through the night, little lone had slept peace- 
fully, dreamlessly, like a flower with its petals 
folded till the sun should waken it. But as the light 
of sunrise quivered and gleamed upon the mountain, 
and a faint soft breeze whispered a greeting to 
the roses, lone stirred in her sleep ; and, though her 
eyes were yet closed, her soul was listening and 
alert. And she thought she stood in a dusty high- 
way where there were many children thronging. 
Some were richly clad and softly rounded, others 
thin and poor; some merry and playful; others 
weary and drooping, with large, sad, wondering 
eyes. And lone in their midst was bewildered be- 
cause they pressed so close around her. 

Then she heard a voice, so musical, so tender, 
so deeply loving, that her eyes filled with happy 
tears as if she heard the voice of her dead Mother: 


THE MESSAGE 195 

“Suffer the little children to come unto me, and 
forbid them not.” 

She looked up in the direction of the voice; and 
in her dream she saw it was a man who spoke. 

But was he a man? Or could he be the Un- 
known God, — come down from the Eternal Skies, 
in a mortal form in answer to the prayers of mor- 
tals? 

lone saw his eyes rest tenderly upon her, as if 
he knew her, had been watching for her, waiting 
for her. 

But so bright the light around him that she was 
awestruck, dazzled, trembling, even while su- 
premely joyous. 

The light grew whiter, brighter, and more rad- 
iant. And then lone wakened, to hear a loud re- 
verberant knocking at the door below her window. 

She sat up in bed. The summer dawn was 
streaming into the room, the familiar room in which 
she had slept every night of the brief nine years of 
her tranquil life. 

She sprang up and ran across to the east window. 
Her old nurse slept undisturbed by the insistent 


196 


THE VALIANT HEART 


knocking; but lone peered out and looked down 
into the courtyard. 

There, hammering the door with a huge fist, 
stood a gigantic Ethiopian; in his other hand a roll 
of parchment. 

“What wouldst thou?” said lone in her clear 
childish voice. 

The slave looked up; bowed low, and touched his 
forehead with the parchment. 

“From the Centurion Claudius Andronicus,” he 
said; “a message. The fever has left Claudius 
these three days bypast; but his barbarian servant, 
whom he prizes above all his servants, is sick unto 
death. The Centurion prays the noble Archias to 
come into Capernaum, and bring with him the se- 
cret medicines for the fever. Quickly, quickly, or 
the barbarian will die ere help can come.” 

The man’s guttural voice was husky, his eyes im- 
ploring; for he was one of those whom Britric had 
tended when the epidemic raged; and he had not 
forgotten. 

Not half an hour later, Archias was riding down 
the narrow white winding road into the town; with 


THE MESSAGE 197 

lone on a mule beside him, and the Ethiopian slave 
trudging behind. 

He would have left little lone in the house with 
her nurse; but she had begged and pleaded to go 
with him. And when he asked, “But why, my 
Sweet?”, she had answered, “Because, my dearest 
Father, I dreamt the Unknown God walked through 
the dusty streets in a white robe of radiance, 
and that He waited there for those who love 
Him.” 

Then Archias turned pale with terror. If lone 
had seen in a dream the Unknown God, might it 
not be that the hand of death was on her heart, 
and that even as her mother had gone, so also 
would she? 

But lone smiled up at him joyously, merrily; and 
her eyes were sparkling with health, her sweet face 
glowing, as she pleaded, “Dear, dear Father; take 
me.” 


But when they rode down into the hustling town, 
— where men of many races jostled and pushed each 
other, and trafficked and wrangled in a babel of 
tongues, — in vain did the eager eyes of lone scan 


198 


THE VALIANT HEART 


the crowds and search each face and figure, in hope 
to see the face of her dream. 

In vain she listened for the melodious voice. 

Dust and noise, loud turmoil, cursings, discord- 
ant laughter, clatter of horses’ hoofs, the grinding 
noise of chariot wheels, the crack of whips, the 
shrilling cries of street-vendors of skins of water, 
surged confusingly around her. And she was 
thankful at last to get out of the heat and glare, into 
the cool secluded quiet of the Centurion’s inner 
room, which looked on to a shady courtyard cov- 
ered with a silken awning. 

There Claudius met and welcomed them. 

“Forgive me, Archias,” he said, “but there are 
not so many honest men in the world that I can 
reconcile myself to the loss of this barbarian! 
Haply thy skill may save him. More knowledge of 
healing hast thou than all the physicians in the 
city.” 

But when Archias saw Britric, he spoke no word 
of hope or comfort; and though his face betrayed 
nothing of his thoughts, yet Claudius felt that 
dreary sinking of the heart which says, “Too late,- 
too late!” 


THE MESSAGE 199 

Silently the kinsmen went out together into the 
ante-room. 

“Well?” said Claudius. 

“By a miracle he may live,” replied the Greek; 
“not otherwise.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 

A S Britric’s bodily strength ebbed, his capacity to 
1 feel and think increased. 

So long as it had been possible for him to work 
each day, even though the work must needs be 
menial, the mere fact of movement, action, although 
so circumscribed, had helped to keep him master 
over his own soul. 

No matter what he suffered inwardly, no mat- 
ter how sharply the pains of memory and disillu- 
sion gnawed at his heart, yet there was always the 
consolation of knowing he had neither bent nor 
broken in the testing. 

Everything had been taken from him, love, glory, 
power, opportunity, even hope itself; everything 
except the strength to hide his anguish and endure 
it with unbroken courage. 

While he could carry messages for Claudius, dis- 
daining to rest or seek the shade even in the scorch- 
200 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 201 


ing heat of noonday, — while he had tended the 
slaves in their siokness, and waited on his master, 
these occupations, though so humble, gave him some 
outlet for the force and fire of his nature. 

But now, since he was cursed with bodily help- 
lessness, this very fire, which sustained him through 
so many trials, was turned into a sharp tormentor. 

All the happenings of his career, every joy and 
every grief from earliest childhood to the present 
instant, seemed to come to life again as an em- 
bodied thought, which, once given form, could not 
be quenched, or stamped out of .existence. 

Though the events had happened singly, yet the 
memories thronged all together; and Britric could 
hear in one and the same instant the soft beguiling 
music of Gisela’s voice when she acclaimed him as 
her star, her God, her King and her True Lover, — 
and the terrified, confused dismay of her repudia- 
tion of all love even in the very hour when he felt 
he had best earned and merited the trusting adora- 
tion she had erstwhile given. The acclamations of 
his people when they greeted him as saviour and de- 
liverer, and their groans and roarings of derision 
when the Druids branded him an outcast, these con- 


202 


THE VALIANT HEART 


flicting cries now beat on his soul like two oppos- 
ing hurricanes. 

He could not lift his head, nor speak. Helpless 
as when he had been bound with thongs and flung 
into the subterranean dungeon, he lay prone, not 
able even to turn or stir. But despite this weak- 
ness of his limbs, his senses became pretematurally 
sharpened. Not even in his boyish days of prowess 
as a hunter and a woodsman had his ear been half 
so sensitive to sound. But now the sounds exas- 
perated his brain, beating on it, lacerating it, even 
as the red hot irons of the Druids had lacerated 
his strong body. 

Pain of body he had disdained ; but those wounds, 
long after the outer scars were healed, had left their 
inward marks upon his spirit; and the inward 
wounds had widened and deepened till his entire 
being felt like one vast wound. 

And now it seemed as if the pain of his mind was 
eating into the fibers of his body. Every nerve 
and sinew, every muscle, every vein, throbbed with 
an independent life, defying, tearing, rending 
Britric. 

Habituated as he had been to discipline his mind 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 203 


and thoughts as a Commander disciplines an army, 
he chafed at this rebellion of his forces. 

Incoherence, inconsistency, the clash of mere 
brute instinct against reason, the mutiny of the 
flesh against the spirit, had not hitherto invaded 
the citadel of his heart. Even his passion for 
Gisela — sudden, unwise, ill-fated — had never been 
ignoble; nor could it die, for it was indissolubly 
wedded to his pity for the weak and helpless. 

In the deepest desolation he had been charac- 
terized by that unwavering constancy, that loyal in- 
violate fidelity, which prompts the fighting spirit to 
stand up resolutely to the blows of Fate, and never 
dream of weak surrender. 

But since he had been smitten with this fever, 
since spirit and body seemed to have escaped from 
his control, and both were rioting with the hectic 
violence of a mob, clamorous and confusing, he felt 
the very foundations of his being tumble into chaos. 

In the nightmare of his torment, he wondered if 
he had ceased to be a man, and had been changed 
by some dire magic into a harp echoing every voice 
and vibrating at every touch. 

The footsteps of slaves passing and repassing in 


204 


THE VALIANT HEART 


the inner court, the breath of the hot wind among 
the oleanders, the neighing of the horses in the 
stables, the crash of a breaking water-jar as some 
weary woman dropped it on the marble pavement, 
these and a myriad of common sounds smote on 
him and entered into him, until he seemed part of 
everything he heard. 

The pain in his limbs, the burning in his brain, 
even the devouring thirst, disturbed him less 
than the loss of his former power to curb his 
thoughts. 

At the same moment lucid and conflicting, dis- 
connected and compelling, the images crowding 
upon his consciousness seemed each to drag him in 
directions opposite to all the others. As he had 
been deprived of outward royalty, so he now seemed 
robbed of control over his inner life. 

So bitterly humiliating this condition, that he 
was reduced to longing for rest, forgetfulness, and 
peace. And to feel abject craving for mere peace, 
to hunger like this for a dull negative oblivion, ap- 
peared to Britric a most despicable sinking to the 
lowest depths of weakness. 

Had he been born to love and suffer and aspire, 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 205 


only in the end to yearn for a blank nothingness? 

Was mankind a herd of cattle, bred and fattened 
for the shambles? Was the love of man for woman 
sprung from a blind instinct shared with beasts and 
vermin? 

Britric sickened at the thought; and he began to 
wonder if his Mother’s Unknown God of Love and 
Mercy had been only a fantasy, a beautiful illu- 
sion; and had he too been brain-sick and deluded? 

To worship an Unknown God of Mercy when the 
world was merciless; to dream of love, as potent 
and all-healing, when bitterest experience had 
proved the shallowness of woman’s love; to chal- 
lenge and defy the evil spirits ever subtly whis- 
pering in the ear of man and luring him to ruin, 
— this, Britric believed to be the line of action 
for a spiritual warrior, a being conscious of an 
inner kinship with a God more noble than himself, 
a regal God, mysterious, veiled, but potent to in- 
spire and sustain and strengthen. 

But his blood turned icy; for suddenly, appall- 
ingly, a doubt of his own sanity shot subtle poison 
all through his soul and body. Perhaps not 
calumny but revelation, not envious lying but a 


206 


THE VALIANT HEART 


stubborn fact, had prompted the Druids to brand 
him as a madman, and to strip him of his crown 
and sceptre! And had Gisela been no coward but 
a wise inspired devotee when she had turned her 
face away from the mad King, who fought a los- 
ing battle striving to save the victims from the 
butcher’s knife of the Arch-Druid? 

To all appearance Britric lay unconscious; but 
though he scarcely seemed to breathe, his soul was 
face to face with such terrifying doubt that he re- 
coiled in horror far more profound than he had 
felt while actively confronting and defying evil. 

The direst anguish, the most frightful cruelty, 
can be endured so long as a man believes unwav- 
eringly that the Powers o'f Light must be the ulti- 
mate conquerors. Even if he may not live to see 
the victory, yet the conviction that he fights upon 
the side predestined to a lasting triumph, will give 
him courage in despair and calmness in the midst 
of turmoil. 

But rob him of his faith, and tell him he has 
fought for an illusion; show him how his highest 
aspirations, his most loving tenderness, his strong- 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 207 


est resolution and most ardent valor, have but 
been worked upon by devils to beguile him, — and 
then his very reason totters! 

It was the hour between midnight and dawn. 

The Centurion Claudius had dismissed his serv- 
ants to sleep, but he stayed watching beside the 
couch of the barbarian. 

In the Libyan desert he had seen many a strong 
man die of fever; and each time the sudden smit- 
ing down of one who a little while agone had been 
alert and vigorous, saddened him and drew out the 
hidden tenderness of a nature as deep and stead- 
fast as it was reticent and self -controlled. But not 
even when some of his own most tried and trusted 
soldiers had been stricken to death in the grim 
desert, had Claudius felt more poignant sorrow 
than for this man whose name and country were 
unknown to him. 

With instinctive power to see into the hearts of 
men, to penetrate the outer wall of circumstance, 
and estimate the inner value of all human beings 
he encountered, Claudius swiftly had overleapt the 
barriers of race and language, and had learnt to 


208 THE VALIANT HEART 

know his servant almost without an interchange of 
words. 

The current of sympathy which flowed out from 
his spirit into the heart of the barbarian, and back 
again, had deepened and widened steadily since 
the first moment his eyes met the eyes of the slave 
in the discordant market-place of Rome. 

But never by a look or a gesture had this slave 
presumed upon the kindness of the master; never 
had he deviated from the steady deference of a 
respectful servant. Though the Centurion had 
lately come to speak to him almost as to a personal 
friend, never had the barbarian encroached a frac- 
tion on his lenience. 

This especial night, while the slave tossed in de- 
lirium, although the words escaping him were in 
a language none of the servants understood, nor 
even Claudius, yet the Centurion felt marked re- 
pugnance to the thought of any except himself ob- 
serving the tortured ravings of a man whose dignity 
and self-control had hitherto been such that slavery 
was powerless to degrade him. 

Claudius sighed; unless by a sheer miracle he 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 209 

did not see how the barbarian could live. The 
man was broken; and better for him to die that 
very night than drag out a lingering death in a 
wrecked body, palsied, helpless, useless. 

Yet Claudius grieved to see him sinking, grow- 
ing weaker every hour. 

With that innate delicacy and scrupulous honor 
found sometimes in strong intellects and dominat- 
ing characters, Claudius curbed his thoughts when 
he found himself endeavoring to deduce from the 
barbarian’s delirious outcries the story of his inner 
life. That the words were quite incomprehensible 
did not prevent the Centurion feeling what these 
words conveyed. This man had been a leader, a 
gallant warrior. His voice had rung out with a 
note of confident command that there was no mis- 
taking; such a note as Claudius had heard in his 
own voice, rallying his soldiers in the moments 
of most crucial danger, when man’s courage is 
tested to the utmost and is not found wanting. 

Nor could he mistake the rapturous murmur, the 
sudden softening of tone, when the clarion-call to 
action melted into a strain of exquisite tenderness. 


210 


THE VALIANT HEART 


This man had loved, — his heart had been lavished, 
ungrudgingly, entirely, after the fashion of such 
as know not how to measure in the giving. 

It was then, when Claudius heard the shout of 
victory change to a low murmur, that he shut his 
eyes, lest he be tempted to look deep into the se- 
crets of one who in waking hours never had laid 
aside the armor of reserve. 

There had been something spartan in the bar- 
barian’s steady resolve to hide all wounds. But 
Claudius, by subtle divination, felt the hidden 
sorrow. 

While the Centurion, after a long hot day on 
duty, drilling new recruits, had chosen to forgo 
his sleep rather than leave the dying slave to the 
care of servants, Britric’s tormented spirit had been 
swirled out into the tossing ocean of memories. 
But now a veil of darkness shrouded his eyes. 
Though the lamp burned steadily and the moon- 
light streamed in through the window, he could not 
see the Centurion’s face. He thought himself alone 
and utterly deserted. 

All his life he had been mad, but now he was 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 211 


wise, knowing that his gracious God, his love, his 
aspirations, had been only dreams! The chill of 
death was creeping up and nearing his heart; and 
the end of all was nothingness! 

So a voice at his ear seemed to whisper; not 
angrily but very calmly, adjuring him to be a man 
and to face the truth in all its naked ugliness, — not 
weakly cling to follies of illusion which see stars 
in dust and rainbow colors in the ashes. 

Britric felt calm at last. The pain had gone 
from his limbs, the throbbing from his brain. A 
merciful faintness succeeded the sharp tormenting 
violence of thought and feeling. 

Life seemed to be ebbing slowly, quietly. Not 
even Gisela’s averted face was branded upon his 
memory now. A mist enshrouded her. 

The flame of Britric’s spirit died down to a heap 
of ashes. No fabled phoenix would ever rise from 
that extinguished fire! Love, faith, valor, aspira- 
tion, — burnt-out cinders one and all! 

The chill crept closer and closer to his heart. 

Oblivion and death! What more could he de- 
sire? What matter that the worms would eat his 
body, and his bones would rot, and his name perish? 


212 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Childless, alone, the last of his line, an exile 
he would die, and be forgotten. Never would any 
mourn for him. 

Even as the word “forgotten” formed itself in 
his weary brain, he became aware of some one 
bending over him; and he heard a long-drawn sigh. 

He strove to raise his eyelids, but a weight was 
pressing on them. He could not speak. And 
again it seemed as if he drifted away, down the 
dull languid stream, creeping sluggishly, surely, to 
the Sea of Nothingness. 

Another moment and the sea would have en- 
gulfed him. 

Once more he heard the sigh; then felt on his 
face something like a drop of summer rain. 

Could it be a tear? 

But who would shed a tear for him? No living 
woman loved him. 

As if from very far away, a voice reached his 
dim consciousness; not any words he could dis- 
tinguish, but he recognized the voice. His master, 
Claudius, was speaking, — a blessing, a prayer, or 
a farewell. 

Then a flood of light poured into the soul of 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 213 


Britric. The fog of nothingness was lifted; the 
web of lies was broken. He was not mad; nor 
ever had been, except in the blind hour when he 
listened to the subtle demon whispering that valor 
is in vain and love a dream, and man but as the 
beasts that perish. 

Not the prison of the grave, but glorious free- 
dom; not the flickering out of life, but glad pro- 
motion into eternal life, awaited the delivered 
spirit. 

If a Centurion of Imperial Rome could grieve 
for the dying of a nameless slave, if this reticent 
strong Claudius, the very embodiment of stately 
self-command, could shed even one tear over the 
silent passing of Britric, then Britric had not lived 
in vain. Though he had lost the love of his wife, 
his warriors, his people, though none of his own race 
and blood had befriended him, not even one, yet 
in slavery and exile he had met the friend denied 
to him in his own country. 

But even as a mysterious peace suffused his soul, 
the current of pain began to flow back into the 
nerves and muscles of his body, and the throbbing 
in his head started again. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE DREAM 

/^LAUDIUS felt rather than saw the change in 
Britric; but it seemed no respite, only a pro- 
longing of the agony. And there came upon him 
that craving for action which is the strong man’s 
way of meeting sorrow. To sit and watch this 
sinking of the flame of life, and to do nothing more 
to fight against approaching Death, this was intol- 
erable! 

He rose, walked quietly to the door and opened 
it, and passed through to the outer room in quest 
of Archias. 

There was a murmuring of voices. Archias was 
awake, and sitting up. Beside him stood the child 
lone, her face luminously pale, her gray eyes shin- 
ing; her tiny hand outstretched. 

“He will come,” she said. “He is coming. 
Claudius will find Him.” 


214 


THE DREAM 215 

“Whom shall I find, sweet lone?” asked the Cen- 
turion, “and how comest thou to be wakeful?” 

“It is daybreak,” whispered lone, “and at noon 
the Unknown God will send the healing I have 
prayed for. Thy servant shall not die.” 

Claudius was amazed, astounded. He did not 
speak. 

“Hearken to my dream,” lone said. “Into the 
midst of many changing shadows — some pale gray 
and cloudy, others dark and stifling — I saw, advanc- 
ing towards thee. One clad all in white. Up to the 
skies he looked, and prayed; and from the skies 
came shafts of radiance, which glowed and shone 
around him, and dispelled the shadows. Towards 
the light I saw thee walking, Claudius, great wonder 
in thy heart, and hope and reverence. As to a 
King thou didst bow thy head, and I could hear thy 
voice, very strong but gentle, pleading and en- 
treating. Nought for thyself didst thou ask, neither 
wealth nor glory nor promotion. Thou didst but 
ask the healing of thy servant. And before I heard 
the answer, I awakened. Yet sure am I that thy 
petition shall be granted.” 

The child’s voice was so tranquil, so supremely 


216 


THE VALIANT HEART 


confident, that the Centurion was awestruck. Lit- 
tle had he looked for any message from the skies; 
ever throughout his life the Heavens had been dumb 
when he had sought the Gods for reenforcement. 
His lifelong belief in a hidden God of Justice had 
been rather a principle than an emotion, rather a 
yearning than a hope. 

Loneliness of spirit, isolation in the midst of 
multitudes; much service, toil, and hardship, and 
deep-rooted grief for the dire evils he clearly saw 
and yet could not prevent, — such was the stern ex- 
perience of Claudius. 

Silently he gazed on lone. Never in any Tem- 
ple of the Gods had he felt such a hush of peace. 

But Archias soon broke the silence. 

“Go to thy bed, my sweet one,” he said to the 
child; “and sleep. Trust Claudius to seek and to 
find!” 

lone folded her hands as if in prayer. 

“Very faithful is our kinsman,” she said; “well 
has he loved the Unknown God. And great shall 
be his recompense.” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE QUEST 



s soon as Claudius arrived at the quarters of the 


^ XHIth Legion, he sought out the Chief Cap- 
tain and inquired whether there had been any 
private message from Rome, heralding the visit of 
some famous stranger, some renowned philosopher 
or wise physician. 

“Nay, Claudius,” said the Chief Captain, 
“Nought have I received from Rome; and little do 
I know of any new arrivals, save only some fabu- 
lously wealthy merchants from Phoenicia, come to 
Capernaum in hope to grow still richer.” 

Then Claudius bethought of asking tidings of the 
Nazarene Jesus. 

“What is this Nazarene to thee?” said the Chief 
Captain; “I know him not.” 

“Not yet have I seen him,” replied Claudius, 
“but when he returns into the city I would have 
speech with him.” 


217 


218 THE VALIANT HEART 

It was not till the hour before noon that the Cen- 
turion at last was free to seek for the compassionate 
Being of lone’s dream, though who that might be 
he knew not. 

Alone he went forth on foot. But where to go — 
which way to turn — perplexed him acutely. 

As he passed out under the massive archway 
carved with tributes to the Roman victories, though 
in his step there was no hesitation, yet there came 
over him a wave of startled surprise, almost of dis- 
may, that he, habituated to the grim realities of 
life, should now be looking for fulfillment of a 
vision seen by a young child. 

Might it not be that lone, in the exquisite purity 
of her innocent soul, had fashioned a God akin to 
her own self? For even as vile fancies give birth 
to vilest idols, so the generous and compassionate 
look to find the Gods magnanimous, faithful, tender 
as themselves. 

The Centurion felt heavy at heart. In the glare 
and dust of the streets, amid the stir and turmoil 
of the city, the Invisible World seemed utterly un- 
real, and the Gods a fantasy of the human mind. 
But habits of promptitude and energy were so in- 


THE QUEST 


219 


grained in Claudius that he walked swiftly on, de- 
termined to do the utmost in his power to respond 
to the strange message. He walked as vigorously 
as if he had slept all through the night, instead of 
watching and waiting beside the couch of a dying 
man, through the loss of whom his lonely, self-sacri- 
ficing life would be the lonelier. 

Various passers-by, who made way for the offi- 
cer of haughty Rome, could little have suspected the 
nature of his quest. 

The scorching sun beat on his helmet and breast- 
plate so pitilessly that he crossed to the shady side 
of the Damascus Road. Then he walked yet more 
swiftly. He did not fail to scan, with direct and 
searching glances, the face of any traveler whose 
expression or demeanor showed unusual strength, 
distinction, or dignity. Yet he saw none who might 
be the Inspired Being of lone’s dream. 

In her presence he had been conscious of a won- 
derful calm joy, which radiated from her when she 
breathed her prophecy of hope. Her eyes shining, 
her voice sweet as the echo of a far-away melody 
from the Eternal Heavens, she was the incarnation 
of such innocent and touching faith that Claudius 


220 


THE VALIANT HEART 


could not bring himself to doubt her vision. But 
now his mind had been invaded by that subtle spirit 
of reaction which too often follows upon rare up- 
lifted moments of ecstatic inspiration. And pro- 
portionate to the heights to which the soul has risen, 
so is the descent to earth humiliating, mournful, 
and confusing. 

Though lone’s words were graven on his mem- 
ory, yet Claudius dreaded lest the only healing for 
his servant would be a healing of the spirit in a 
life beyond the tomb. 

He stood still for a moment, and considered. 
Then he turned out of the stone-paved main road, 
and made his way down a narrow and crowded 
street leading through the fishermen’s quarter. 

Who could tell what traveler might be coming 
now across the Sea of Galilee? 

Possibly some boatman might be able to say if 
Jesus the Nazarene was yet expected; for Claudius 
remembered that this Jesus was rumored to have 
friends and followers among the fishermen; rough 
and rugged men, but commonly more honest than 
the publicans and traders. And mayhap Jesus of 


THE QUEST 


221 


Nazareth would bring him tidings of the Unknown 
Being he was seeking. 

Crossing the street Claudius jostled by accident 
against an elderly Jew priest, who darted back at 
him a look of such malevolent antagonism as to 
check the apology the Roman was about to offer. 

Claudius, from personal observation in many 
lands, had no exalted opinion of priests as a class. 
He could better imagine men of action opening 
their ears to receive the teachings of a new Pyth- 
agoras; for men of action, bred in readiness to face 
death for a principle of duty, appeared to him — 
even at their crudest and most ignorant — warmer of 
heart and less constricted in mind than any priest- 
hood the world as yet had known. 

He who, in the desert, had seen one of his fever- 
stricken soldiers resign a drink of water to a com- 
rade, and had observed among them many such 
actions of unconscious generosity and spontaneous 
kindness, felt that the essentials of valor, recti- 
tude and truth were easier to find in loyal soldiers 
than in the ranks of the professional reciters of 
long-winded prayers, — men whose prayers would 


222 


THE VALIANT HEART 


quickly change to curses against any human being 
with a wider outlook than their own. 

If the Unknown God ever should send down to 
the Hebrew people a Messiah, a spirit of transcend- 
ent love and beauty, then woe to the Divinity caged 
in the prison-house of flesh! How could He touch 
the hearts of a race which would reject even the 
God of Gods if the Supreme One did not follow 
rather than attempt to lead the priesthood? 

Claudius paused a moment in his walk. The 
sun burned with an almost blinding brightness; 
but he felt an inward chill, a sad foreboding, a 
strange impersonal grief, thinking that if even he 
was so revolted by the clashing discords of the 
world, the baseness, weakness, cruelty, and obsti- 
nate blindness of mankind, how much more acutely 
would those evils torture an Immortal, a Divine 
One, should any such come down to earth in mortal 
form. 

Claudius almost could have wished that such a 
Being might be spared the bitter anguish of con- 
tact with those age-long evils. 

As this feeling deepened, the Centurion ceased 
to observe the passers-by. The hum and hustle of 


THE QUEST 


223 


the traffic came as if from a far distance. Every 
outer sensation was lost in a sudden overwhelming 
dread lest he, though living a life of strenuous de- 
votion to his duty, had given but insufficient service 
to the Highest, even while he deemed himself con- 
sistent in adherence to the noblest principles he 
had thought possible of practical fulfillment. 

He walked on until he reached the stately Quay, 
completed recently by order of Tiberius Caesar. 

Hence plied multi-colored craft, to and from 
Hippos, Magdala and Bethsaida. 

Claudius made his way through a little crowd of 
fishers, boatmen, and travelers, till he stood close 
by a flight of marble steps, and looked across the 
inland sea. 

The sun was glittering on the waters with such 
dazzling brightness that his eyes ached in the glare. 
His brain was beginning to suffer from an unaccus- 
tomed tiredness; and his heart sank with dread lest 
his servant die before lone’s prophecy could be 
accomplished. And at the thought of how sharp 
a disillusion it would be to the trusting child if her 
God could fail her, Claudius felt a pang of remorse 
for his own weary apprehension. For a life-time 


224 


THE VALIANT HEART 


he had inwardly craved to find the Unknown God; 
and now how could he flag and sink into passive 
weariness when the child relied on him to be obed- 
ient to the vision? 

Close by the place where he was standing, a boat 
had just been brought alongside the Quay; but 
though Claudius had heard the plash of oars, and 
the sound of footsteps, he scarcely heeded them; 
for he was feeling strangely humbled, as if he 
were in part responsible even for the very evils he 
deplored. 

But his face gave little sign of his emotion. 

As he stood immersed in thought — resolutely 
hoping that the child’s faith might not be in vain, — 
he heard some deep rough voices; and then a voice 
far other than the voices of the fisherfolk; a voice 
in which melody and power, dignity and tender- 
ness were mingled. And though the words were 
no more than the salutation customary among Jews, 
the tones arrested the Centurion’s attention; and he 
turned to see who might be speaking. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE MIRACLE 

TN the Centurion’s house there was a hush and 
silence. It was the hottest hour of the day; and 
in this hour the slaves were wont to lie down on the 
marble pavement of the inner court and rest under 
the shade of a dark awning which screened them 
from the sun’s pitiless glare. 

But to-day there was one who could not find any 
rest or merciful forgetfulness. While the others 
slept, the giant Ethiopian squatted beneath the win- 
dow of the room where the barbarian lay dying. 
And though his features were immobile as a statue 
of black marble, in his eyes there was dumb misery, 
as in the eyes of a faithful dog who knows his mas- 
ter will never whistle for him again or give him 
any word of greeting. 

To those who have nothing, a very little makes a 

feast. The northern barbarian was the one man 
225 


226 


THE VALIANT HEART 


who had befriended the Ethiopian since that re- 
bellious giant had been taken prisoner and sold 
into slavery. 

Although Claudius Andronicus was never cruel 
or capricious, although his slaves served him with 
at least a measure of willingness, recognizing him 
as just and steadfast, yet the Ethiopian had many 
a time felt the bread of servitude choking in his 
throat, and a dull smoldering anger against all his 
conquerors seethed in his soul till he had become a 
veritable incarnation of dark hatred. Helpless to 
give voice to his emotions, helpless to take action 
of any kind against the victors, yet never forget- 
ting that he once had been a warrior, this man’s 
very spirit writhed in bondage. When the north- 
ern barbarian first had come, the Ethiopian re- 
garded him mistrustfully and jealously. But be- 
tween men who have been soldiers there is a subtle 
affinity; and even though one of the slaves was born 
royal, and the other had been only a javelin-bearer 
of the lowest rank, though in race and language they 
were so very far apart, yet the Ethiopian after a 
while began to know instinctively that the barbarian 
had read his heart and penetrated his outer mask 


THE MIRACLE 


227 


of dreary resignation. There sprung up then be- 
tween these two, so vastly dissimilar, one of those 
strange affections bom of misfortune. And when 
Britric tended the slaves all through the violent epi- 
demic of malignant fever, the Ethiopian’s last shred 
of jealous distrust was swept away in a flood of 
gratitude. 

And now he sat waiting miserably, while the 
shadow of death crept closer and closer, and the 
crushing wretchedness of fast-approaching desola- 
tion pressed on his soul with a weight of hopeless- 
ness which bewildered him even while it tortured. 

Not thus, he thought, should the bright-eyed, fair- 
haired one be dying; but in battle, mounted on a 
stately elephant; and leading men to victory. If 
he must die, it should have been with jewel-hafted 
scimitar in hand, amidst the clash of arms and clang 
of martial music; fighting, fighting, fighting to the 
end! 

And at the thought of the strong warrior sinking 
into the grave, dying of fever and palsy even in 
the flower of his splendid youth, — dying while so 
many weary aged men lived on and cumbered the 
earth, — the Ethiopian’s heart sank in despair, and 


228 


THE VALIANT HEART 


his mind was torn with savage anger against what- 
soever Gods there be. 

Meanwhile Britric lay unconscious, — Archias 
watching beside him, and waiting in a degree of 
suspense which amazed himself. What, after all, 
was the life of a barbarian slave that it should seem 
so precious in the eyes of Claudius Andronicus? 
Who and what was this man that lone should 
have dreams and visions of his healing? 

For love of lone, Archias had said no word of 
doubt. The child had her mother’s eyes, and each 
time she spoke of the Unknown God, those eyes 
were radiant with such ecstatic peace as Archias 
had seen long ago on the face of one woman, — 
the one, the only one whom he had ever worshiped. 
Therefore, for true love’s sake, he struggled to 
hope and believe; but it seemed to him the Angel 
of Death was already overshadowing the barbarian, 
and that it would be miraculous if Claudius or any 
other could prevail on this grim Angel to turn aside 
and to forego his victim. 

In the ante-room lone was alone, her soul up- 
lifted in prayer. Never had she wavered in her 


THE MIRACLE 


229 


certainty that the Unknown God would listen and 
hear, and like a gracious King do justice. Very 
tranquil her faith; she knew so little of mankind 
that it was the easier for her never to doubt God’s 
mercy. Into her short happy life no harshness 
had entered yet, no bitterness, no jarring note of 
discord. Encircled with love, she had never felt, 
nor could imagine, the cruel power of hate. Her- 
self the embodiment of truth and frankness, gener- 
ous and tender, ardent and warm of heart, pitying 
even the caged song-bird or the fluttering terror of 
the moth singed in the torch-flame, what could she 
know of the brutalities of life? 

Archias sighed, wondering what the future held 
in store for her, and how long her joyous faith 
would survive the innocence of childhood? 

It was noon. lone rose from her knees, and 
ran gently but swiftly into the inner room. And 
as she reached the barbarian’s bedside, Britric 
stirred and opened his eyes. He looked at her as 
if she were a figure in some beautiful dream which 
must dissolve if he broke the spell by speaking. 

Archias watched in silence. 


230 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Then lone put her slender little fingers on the 
barbarian’s forehead. 

“The Unknown God has healed thee,” she said, 
her voice not tremulous but calmly triumphant. 
“Arise and make ready to greet my kinsman Claud- 
ius on his home-coming. He has been sorely 
grieved to see thee suffer, and will much rejoice now 
that thy pains are ended.” 

Still Britric looked at her as if she were a being 
of another region. He felt as if his spirit had 
come from a far distance; and as yet he was dazed, 
confused, and knew not how to answer. 

lone withdrew her hand ; and then he essayed to 
raise himself. In a moment he was sitting up ; the 
power had come back to his limbs, the torturing 
pain in his head had passed like a nightmare. A 
current of new strength was flowing all through 
his veins; and he felt himself already restored to 
that physical vigor the value of which he never fully 
realized until he lost it. 

lone looked into his eyes, with a frank happy 
smile, the transparent expression of her soul. 

Tenderly, proudly, the child gazed at the man 
whose unconscious dignity and silent fortitude, even 


THE MIRACLE 231 

in the first moment of beholding him, drew forth 
her admiration. 

But as Britric met her eyes, so fearless, so un- 
clouded, so inspiring in their beauty, a pang of bit- 
ter anguish shot through his spirit. This child of 
alien race and alien language, to whom he was but 
a captive, a barbarian, a nameless slave, she, to 
whom he was only this, could look at him with 
tenderest compassion. But his own beloved wife 
whom he had crowned and worshiped, whom he 
had trusted as a messenger from the eternal Heav- 
ens, she, alas, had won him only to reject him. 
Never could he forget how she had turned her face 
away! And so the brightness of lone’s eyes 
wounded him instead of healing; for though he 
deemed her lovely with a loveliness transcending 
woman’s beauty, though he recognized in the child 
one who by her very existence on earth was giving 
light in darkness, — though he saw in her even such 
a soul as he had dimly but yearningly been seek- 
ing ever since his boyhood, — yet she brought him 
no joy but only added sorrow. Had she not come 
into his life too late, too late! 

It was not the gulf of years between them that 


232 


THE VALIANT HEART 


built up the insuperable barrier; nor even his servi- 
tude to her kinsman Claudius; nor yet the differ- 
ence in their race and language; for Britric was 
one who could have loved without hope of recom- 
pense, had but his inner spirit been contented. The 
barrier was Gisela. And although Gisela had 
abandoned and forsaken him, though she had never 
loved him in the way he had at first imagined, yet 
what was done was done. He had vowed his love 
to her, and never could he withdraw it. He knew 
that were he standing even at the very gates of 
Heaven, and were lone within, and waiting to un- 
bar those gates, yet he must turn back and go down 
to earth, go down to Hell itself, if thence he heard 
the trembling voice of Gisela calling him to save 
her from the cruelty of men and demons. 

Inconstant, wavering, full of fears, had she not 
all the more need of love, — the love which no dis- 
aster can quench, no unkindness turn to hatred, no 
absence or distance chill into indifference? 

As the child lone looked at him, so gladly, so 
trustingly, he knew she would never fail even the 
meanest, poorest creature who relied on her. But 
a veil of mist came between his eyes and hers; and 


THE MIRACLE 


233 


he felt as if from the starry heights of a great moun- 
tain he was falling down, deep down, into a bot- 
tomless pit, where there was neither sunlight nor 
pure water, nor any gleam of hope or brightness. 

And he said in his heart, “They will point to me 
as to one brought back from death to life; but I 
come rather from life to death.” 

Then with a resolute effort he rallied his cour- 
age to take up the burden laid on him. 

“Noble lone,” he said in his hesitating Aramaic, 
“to thy prayers my heart tells me I owe this heal- 
ing of my body. Pray now, I beseech thee, to 
thine Unknown God that He will show me some way 
to do Him service.” 

He spoke out of his innate courtesy, so as not 
to chill or wound the child whose joy had been so 
overflowing. But already a faint shadow from his 
misery had reached her spirit. As she gazed 
at him her eyes grew liquid with tears, and he saw 
she felt — although she could not understand — his 
sorrow. 

Then he was humbled to the dust. Had he not 
striven all his life to serve the God of Love and 
Mercy, and to bring hope and comfort into the 


234 


THE VALIANT HEART 


world? And yet he was allowing the shadow of 
his own irreparable grief to dim the brightness of 
an innocent child’s delight. 

Two tears rolled down her face, but her voice was 
ringing with hope as she spoke, very tenderly, very 
sweetly, 

“I pray the Unknown God to give thee many 
services to do for Him. Thou shalt be His warrior.” 

When lone came with her father from the room 
where Britric had been brought back out of the 
clutches of Death, she remembered the piteous ex- 
pression in the eyes of the giant Ethiopian when 
he had pleaded that Archias should come to the 
sufferer “quickly, quickly,” lest it be too late. So 
she sent for the slave and told him the good tidings. 
And the Ethiopian prostrated himself on the 
ground, and touched her sandalled feet with his 
forehead; and muttered broken guttural words of 
thankfulness. 

It was at this moment that the Centurion came 
in. 

Archias saw at a glance that there was a change 
in him. Always Claudius had been calm and self- 


THE MIRACLE 


235 


reliant, equable in manner, reticent and quietly 
commanding, giving out strength to all around him. 
But in his stern, dark eyes, so quick to pierce 
through fallacies and see the ugliness under the 
specious mask of gaiety and beauty, there had hith- 
erto been a melancholy none the less poignant be- 
cause so rarely expressed. 

And now this melancholy had vanished; in its 
place was an inspiring hope which shone out even 
before any word was uttered. 

“The barbarian is healed,” said Archias. “At 
noon he wakened, calm and lucid in mind, the fever 
and palsy gone from him even as by a miracle.” 

For a moment Claudius did not answer; he was 
pondering how to set forth clearly that which was 
beyond description. 

lone signed to the Ethiopian to arise from the 
floor, and the slave was leaving the room when his 
master called him back. Claudius remembered 
the man’s distress when the barbarian had been 
smitten with what seemed a mortal illness. 

“Stay,” he said, “and what thou hearest thou 
shalt relate to all my servants; and in their hours 
of leisure they may go forth and see and hear for 


236 


THE VALIANT HEART 


themselves this Jesus of Nazareth, — who resembles 
no other Jew that is or ever has been.” 

His deep-toned voice rang with the note of com- 
mand habitual to him; yet it seemed gentler. 

“A conquered race the Jews,” he said, “and con- 
quered through their arrogant presumption that 
their God would always give them victory though 
they would not hearken to His warnings nor train 
themselves to fight in the defense of their own na- 
tion. God is not called upon to fight for cowards. 
And so they were attacked and overthrown, and in 
shame and servitude they toiled longtime as cap- 
tives by the waters of Babylon. And yet their 
hearts were stubborn. Still are they stubborn, with 
a pride fostered and fed by their harsh narrow 
priesthood. Yet may they be changed from rebels 
against God to warriors of God, will they but 
hearken to this Jesus.” 

Archias gazed in astonishment at his kinsman; 
but he asked no question. And lone also waited. 

“Thou knowest,” said the Roman, “how, some 
little while past, I sent to seek this Nazarene and 
bring him here that I might speak with him as to 
the doctrines he is teaching. But when I beheld 


THE MIRACLE 


237 


him face to face, I was amazed I erstwhile so lit- 
tle realized how great a Master I had thought to 
summon to my dwelling.” 

As the Centurion spoke, Britric appeared in the 
doorway leading from the inner room. 

Claudius greeted him with a gesture, and re- 
sumed his narrative. 

“Scarce can I describe in words how the Naz- 
arene with one swift look awakened in me a deeper 
homage than I ever felt for any potentate on earth. 
Many a mighty King have I seen; many a leader 
and commander; many a priest invested with a 
seeming sanctity, but in this Jesus — come of the 
royal race that so long has ceased to rule over the 
Jews — I beheld one whose kingship is of the ever- 
lasting spirit. From a higher royalty than that of 
earthly Kings is the dignity and majesty of his all- 
comprehending eyes.” 

There was another spell of silence. 

lone watched her kinsman, breathlessly, eagerly, 
her face pale with emotion. 

Britric looked from her to the Centurion, then 
back to her again; and then he stared into space, and 
the flickering hope in his eyes was dimmed with ap- 


238 


THE VALIANT HEART 


prehension. Never had hope led him otherwhere 
than to disaster. Much he distrusted hope. 

But the stern face of Claudius was as if lighted 
from within, and his voice rang out yet more 
powerfully, 

“When I looked upon Jesus then was I filled with 
remorse for all my imperfections, and for the 
blindness of men’s souls. But I took courage and 
proffered my petition: ‘Lord, my servant lieth in 
my house sick of the palsy, grievously tormented.’ 
He answered, ‘I will come and heal him.’ Then 
was I shamed afresh at the remembrance how I 
would have sent for Jesus as for a common 
scholar or a rhetorician to be questioned. So 
I bowed my head and answered, ‘Lord, I am not 
worthy that thou shouldst come under my roof. Do 
but say the word and my servant shall be healed.’ 
As I spoke thus I could feel the power of the Un- 
known God flowing through his spirit. Even as I, 
Claudius, am nought in myself and yet am much in 
that the might of the Roman Empire is behind me, 
so may a mortal man reflect some of the majesty of 
God the King of Kings. Yet as I bethought me of 
this, I knew I wronged the Nazarene by the com- 


THE MIRACLE 


239 


parison. His Kingdom is so immeasurably nobler 
than any Empire of this sin-stained world; and 
though he be mortal man, I felt that his transcendent 
spirit is united to the spirit of the One, the Ever- 
lasting, the Unchanging, and that there is not, nor 
has been, nor yet shall be another like him.” 

Again there was a hush; again hope awakened 
in Britric’s eyes. 

“So,” said the Centurion, “when I beheld the fish- 
ermen and traders who stood around look amazed 
that I a Roman officer could speak thus to a Jew, 
calling him Lord and bowing low before him, I 
marvelled that any man could gaze on him and fail 
to pay him homage. Therefore I spake in a voice 
all could hear: ‘Lord, do but say the word and my 
servant shall be healed. For I also am a man un- 
der authority, having under myself soldiers; and I 
say unto one “Go,” and he goeth, and to another 
“Come,” and he cometh, and to my servant “Do 
this,” and he doeth it.’ Thus in mine own fashion, 
being not eloquent, I strove to show, in the presence 
and hearing of many, that I felt in Jesus a majesty 
from on high, an authority which none may dispute, 
for it reaches from the Creator of the Universe, 


240 


THE VALIANT HEART 


down through many grades; and even the spirit of 
disease must bow to it and go hence at the word of 
power.” 

Claudius drew a deep breath. “Even while I 
was dreading lest my speech convey not clearly the 
thoughts of my heart, Jesus turned to those that 
were with him and said, ‘Verily I say unto you I 
have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel.’ 
Then was I astounded. Strange it seemed that I 
should be able to see in him the greatness so many 
of his own race and blood deny! They call him a 
‘Sabbath breaker,’ a ‘blasphemer,’ a fit associate for 
‘publicans and sinners!’ Blind are their eyes; and 
much I wonder wherefore so sublime a spirit has 
come into mortal form a Jew! As I stood looking 
upon him, he spake again to his disciples: ‘Many 
shall come from the east and the west and shall sit 
down with Abraham in the Kingdom of Heaven; 
but the sons of the Kingdom shall be cast forth into 
the outer darkness.’ I know not what this may 
mean, unless that Jesus the Jew would fain bring 
the word of God to all races and every people, and 
that the Jews no more may deem themselves, as 
hitherto, the only people chosen of Jehovah.” 


THE MIRACLE 


241 


The Centurion paused, and looked at Britric, who 
stood in the doorway facing him, thin and worn 
from the effects of fever and much pain, his face 
still very weary, but strong, unflinching, resolute, — 
the face of a warrior. Claudius looked to him to 
make some comment, but it was Archias who spoke. 

“And then, what befel thee; how didst thou part 
from Jesus?” 

“I saluted him,” said Claudius, “and he returned 
my salutation ; and as a King to a tried servant, as a 
Commander to a trusted soldier, he spake, dismiss- 
ing me, ‘As thou hast believed, so be it done unto 
thee.’ And I knew my servant’s life was saved 
then at the hour of noon, even as Jesus uttered 
these words.” 

“At the hour of noon,” said lone, “yea, at the 
very moment thou wert speaking with the Heaven- 
Bom, thy servant wakened from death to life. So 
is the prophecy fulfilled, and all our prayers are 
answered.” 


CHAPTER XXVI 


“how long, o god, how long?” 
HOUGH the Centurion appeared to have found 



the inward peace he so long had craved but 
scarcely had expected to experience on earth, and 
though little lone was radiant with a happiness so 
tranquil, so unclouded, that it seemed almost di- 
vine, Britric himself, in the weeks that followed 
his restoration to perfect health of body, felt less 
like a man who has received a benefit than like a 
captive, who, on the eve of release, incurs a new 
and heavier sentence. The most merciful thing, 
he thought, would have been to have let him die. 
But in so thinking, he inwardly reproached himself 
for churlish ingratitude to Claudius, Archias and 
lone, each of whom rejoiced in his healing as in a 
miracle. 

To Britric it was no miracle to be forced to go on 
living, but rather it seemed an instance of that 


242 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 243 


irony and perversity of fortune which had pursued 
him relentlessly ever since he had challenged fate 
at the Stones of Sacrifice, by openly declaring his 
worship of the Unknown God. 

And now, to be dragged back from the very verge 
of the grave aroused in him no thankfulness but 
only a great weariness of spirit. 

Even the Druids had claimed power to heal; it 
was the other aspect of their power to smite. Brit- 
ric had known the grim Arch-Druid by a touch of 
his hand make men sleep and forget their pain; 
and from afar the Druids could cast sickness on 
those they hated, and could lift away the sickness 
when the victim had been terrified into submission. 
Therefore although the healing of Britric caused 
Claudius and all his household to believe implicitly 
in the Heaven-given powers of Jesus the Jew of 
Nazareth, Britric felt only a deeper melancholy, and 
a fear lest his new-found friends were dooming 
themselves to cruel disappointment. When in a 
mere healer they thought they had discovered the 
Son of the Supreme God, Britric wondered at what 
seemed to him extraordinary credulity; and of all 
the servants in the employ of Claudius, he was the 


244 


THE VALIANT HEART 


only one who did not avail himself of the permis- 
sion to go out and hear the words of Jesus. 

But his sympathy for the feelings of those who 
deemed him benefited, compelled him to reticence. 
He had not the heart even by a word or a look to cast 
the faintest shadow over their satisfaction. For 
lone most of all he felt anxiety and foreboding; he 
dreaded the moment when she must waken and 
understand the vileness of the world and the callous 
insensibility of the High Gods. Her trusting faith 
reminded him of the impassioned certainty with 
which he himself erstwhile had looked to the Un- 
known God as to one who could never fail or waver. 
And where had this devotion led him? To slavery; 
to exile! 

Easy, he thought, for Claudius to be happy! 
Had he not the glory and unbroken prestige of Im- 
perial Rome behind him? (Even Britric as long 
as he had a sword by his side, and men under his 
command, had readily believed in a just deity!) 
For Archias too, how facile to embrace a benevolent 
and consoling faith! Might not any man feel calm 
assurance of the favor of a gentle God of Mercy 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 245 


when God had granted him to be the parent of so 
lovely a child as little lone? 

Though Britric outwardly fell back into all his 
former occupations, and appeared contented, the 
cry of “How long, 0 God, how long?” went up 
silently from the depths of his heart. In the pres- 
ence of lone, his grief for Gisela became only the 
more insistent. 

Yet on the day when Archias and lone set out 
for their home on the heights, — Claudius riding 
with them to the outskirts of the city, — Britric felt 
as if the last and only ray of light in his life had 
gone from him. 

So much and deeply had he suffered, so illusory 
had all happiness been to him, so false, so treacher- 
ously ensnaring every high hope he once had cher- 
ished, that by degrees he had acquired a conviction 
that all bright and beautiful things were doomed 
before birth. When lone smiled good-by to him, 
and waved her hand, it seemed to him that she was 
going away for ever. He wondered if even beyond 
the stars there could be any meeting between such a 
soul as his, so scarred with frightful disillusion, and 


246 


THE VALIANT HEART 


a spirit like hers into which the consciousness of 
cruelty and evil had not entered. 

The thought that if she reached womanhood she 
must see and know the world in all its naked bru- 
tality, turned him cold with apprehension; and he 
could almost have prayed to the Unknown God to 
take her away before the tempest of life could at- 
tack and break her. 

Pleasures flit across the surface and pass like 
phantoms ; but pain brands its mark upon the spirit ; 
and in the infinite spirit there is room for infinite 
anguish. So mused Britric. And to his ceaseless 
anxiety and misery about Gisela, was added a new 
and strange anxiety about lone. In no way had his 
admiration for the child lessened his love for the 
absent and ever unforgotten woman, to whom he 
had given the love of his impassioned manhood. 
For it is in the same moment the tragedy and glory 
of the love of such as Britric that in its very essence 
it is eternal. Being one with his consciousness of 
immortality, no mortal disaster could utterly ex- 
tinguish it. Nay, disasters had but intensified its 
mysterious potency. No merciful oblivion was pos- 
sible. 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 247 


“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the 
floods drown it.” 

That Britric still clung to his belief in the Un- 
known God, was less in hope than on principle, as a 
gallant soldier defending an outpost against re- 
peated and ferocious onslaughts would stay fighting 
to the end, and perish rather than surrender. From 
inherent constancy he would not desert either his 
love or his God; the more especially as a God of 
Love needs must have few, pitifully few, votaries 
in a world of hatred! 

But it was bitter to be always on the losing side. 
And Britric’s face grew sterner and thinner, and his 
bearing unconsciously prouder and more aloof as 
the burden of inward misery became the heavier. 

With it all, — even in the garb of a slave, power- 
less, obscure, and helpless, — he pitied the world 
far more than he abhorred it. 

He almost could have pitied the Druids. 
Despite their claims to omnipotence, despite their 
victory over himself, he suspected them to be but 
the blind dupes of some ancient immeasurable evil, 
ferociously destructive, implacably hostile to men; 
an evil acting through their vanity and folly, — 


248 


THE VALIANT HEART 


subtly controlling them even while they believed 
themselves the masters. It was this consciousness 
of a deep-rooted, hideous evil, mysteriously operat- 
ing through their words and actions, which had 
clinched Britric’s determination to defy them. 
With such an adversary there should be, he thought, 
no compromise. 

And yet of what avail his challenge? Had it not 
only fixed the yoke of tyranny more firmly on the 
necks of his people? Would not his fate now and 
henceforth be a perpetual deterrent to any King 
of Western Alba whtf might have spirit enough to 
chafe against a slavery which held in an iron grip 
the entire manhood of the country, from monarch 
down to swineherd? 

The day lone left Capernaum there had come 
upon Britric a sudden and violent longing to confide 
to the child his rank and history, and ask her 
prayers for his unhappy people, and for the rescue 
of Gisela from bondage to men who knew not even 
the meaning of the word compassion. Then close 
on the heels of this impulse came a burning shame. 
How low had he fallen, when he could crave the 
relief of uncovering his wounds to a child; and to 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 249 


the very child he had prayed God to protect from 
knowledge of the universal tragedy called life! 

The night after lone left, Britric dreamt of 
Gisela. The dream was confused and left no very 
clear impression; but he slept again, and wakened, 
just before dawn, with an acute conviction that his 
wife was in some mortal danger and that her cry 
for help had gone forth to him from the depths of 
her despair. His wife! Thus he thought of her 
even now; for although the Druids had claimed to 
have broken every link between her soul and his, 
and had pronounced husband and wife eternally 
divided, Britric had never felt so deep an ardor 
of devotion to Gisela as at this moment, when it 
seemed as if her heart cried to him as to the only one 
who ever loved her truly. 

Then there surged up in his own heart a deter- 
mination that she should not cry to him in vain. 
But how could he help her? What could a slave 
in Syria do for a Queen in Western Alba? 

Britric braced himself as for some supreme com- 
pelling effort. 

Warrior to the very depths of his being, the seem- 


250 


THE VALIANT HEART 


ing hopelessness of his aim, the overwhelming na- 
ture of the obstacles, roused in him that fire of 
resolution by which men endowed with the utmost 
capacity for love achieve results that colder hearts 
and sluggish minds deem “impossible.” 

Gisela was in mortal danger; Gisela must be 
saved. 

But how? 

Britric strove to think, and was still struggling 
and groping when dawn glowed roseate and golden 
on the mountain heights, and crept slowly down into 
the valleys, and glittered sparkling and dancing on 
the waters. 

To the Unknown God Britric prayed a prayer 
which came from heart, soul, mind, and spirit. 

“God, I have striven to be faithful. Save my 
people; save my Beloved One. Shall not love be 
victor over hatred? God of Love, I pray thee, fail 
me not!” 

Then there came a hush in his heart. The other 
slaves, who slept around him, seemed very far away. 
For an instant it was as if he stood on the shores of 
Western Alba and looked out across the bay, at 
such a dazzling sunrise that he wondered if at last 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 251 


his soul were set free .from his body. He felt a 
power, an ecstasy of hope, a sense of victory and 
deliverance, which made him say in his heart “Can 
this be death?” 

Was Gisela dead and free from every earthly 
danger? And was he too delivered? And at last 
would she look into his eyes again, and tell him 
she had loved him always, but that the Druids had 
enchanted her by evil spells. And now the spells 
were broken? . . . 

At this moment the Ethiopian slave groaned in 
his sleep, and wakened ; and Britric came down with 
a shock from dreams to realities. 

The black giant looked at the fair barbarian in- 
tently. 

“Thou aKt sad,” he said in his hesitating, stum- 
bling voice; “servitude is worse to thee than 
death.” 

Even taller and stronger than Britric, the slave 
gazed at him with curious deference and humility. 

“Wilt thou come?” he said, almost timidly. 

“Whither?” asked Britric. 

The Ethiopian’s eyes lighted up with an expres- 
sion Britric had never seen in them before. 


252 


THE VALIANT HEART 


“To hear him of Nazareth,” he said, “he who 
should be King of the Jews.” 

Britric hesitated. “What is he to do with me? 
Am I a Jew?” was the thought in his mind, but he 
refrained from giving it voice. 

“This Nazarene heals the body,” he said. “But 
what needest thou of healing? Verily I am no 
weakling, but if thou and I encountered in a wres- 
tling match, I dare not promise / would be the 
victor!” 

The Ethiopian grinned appreciatively. Then his 
face grew solemn. Words would not come to him 
for what he wished to say. He only very dimly 
comprehended the change in his own soul since 
Jesus, as if by some amazing magic, had put 
patience in his heart in place of the tormenting 
sullen wrath which had consumed him. 

Britric’s swift power of sympathy enabled him 
to divine something (though not all) of what was 
happening in the Ethiopian’s mind. And, pitying 
the humiliation of this fighting man reduced to be a 
most unwilling hewer of wood and drawer of water, 
he would not condemn any doctrine or idea that 
gave the slave even a shred of consolation. 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 253 


“As thou wilt,” he said. “I shall go forth this 
day and look upon Jesus, and proffer him thanks 
in that he healed me of my sickness.” 

This was what the Ethiopian expected. But in- 
wardly Britric was saying to himself^ “Could Jesus 
but heal the wounds of the immortal spirit, could 
he send release and comfort to Gisela, then would 
I believe him Heaven-Bom!” 

As this thought flashed suddenly upon him, it 
seemed as if a voice in his heart, a voice silent but 
all-compelling, whispered, “Seek, and thou shalt 
find.” 

Then he said to the Ethiopian, 

“The master has need of me when he awakens. 
Not yet can I go with thee; but I will ask leave of 
Claudius afterwards. Very courteous this noble 
Roman. If thou and I needs must be slaves, verily 
I thank the Gods we toil in the service of a 
warrior, and not as chattels of some purse-proud 
merchant.” 

Again the Ethiopian showed his teeth in an ad- 
miring grin. 

He tolerated Claudius; but he worshiped 
Britric. 


254 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Britric felt the man’s affection, and wondered at 
it, so little had he been used to gratitude. 

Ah, but there was no Arch-Druid here to frighten 
the Ethiopian into abject terror, and set him 
whimpering and trembling like a beaten hound ! 

Britric smiled bitterly; had not the men of the 
King’s Guard in Western Alba been strong and 
stalwart as the Ethiopian; and had they not one 
and all deserted him in his hour of need, when, 
had they stood firm, and trusted and obeyed him, 
the evil power of the Druids might have been for 
ever broken? 

What was man’s courage, Britric wondered, if a 
Druid’s wand could shatter it? 

“If thou and I were together in the desert,” he 
said to the Ethiopian, “and a body of priests came 
out to seize me and to slay me as a sacrifice, — what 
wouldst thou do?” 

The Ethiopian made an expressive gesture, as if 
gripping a man’s throat and strangling him. This 
he repeated many times. 

“All dead now,” he said; “much sacrifice for 
Gods. Long-robed ones all killed. You safe! 
Me safe!” 


“HOW LONG, 0 GOD, HOW LONG?” 255 


Whereupon, at this unexpected answer, Britric 
broke into laughter that astonished himself. 

And again the Ethiopian grinned. “Forgive 
enemies, Jesus say,” he articulated somewhat more 
clearly than usual; “yes, forgive. But I say kill 
first! Then forgive easy.” 

Britric smiled anew; the Ethiopian was a strange 
but by no means unpleasant blend of child and 
tiger. 

“Why dost thou so revere Jesus the Nazarene?” 
asked Britric. 

“Why?” The Ethiopian echoed the question as 
if surprised. And then he answered, “Because you 
die, — he make you live.” 

To Britric it seemed ironical that his recovery of 
health had won for the healer Jesus the homage of 
all in the Centurion’s house, excepting only himself. 
And now more than ever he felt isolated in a prison 
of dreary solitude, so stricken at heart that it must 
transcend mortal power ever to give him lasting 
consolation. 

Without hope and without fear he lived, and so 
must go on living until death released him. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 

TT was night in Western Alba; a night of stars 
and silence. The wind had sobbed itself to 
sleep; the spirits of the waves and waters brooded 
and dreamed in tranquil stillness. 

On such a night Gisela had murmured tenderly, 
adoringly, to Britric that he was as a shining star, 
she as a flickering glow-worm which by the miracle 
of love should rise up to the star. She had likened 
her being to a mirror of steel, beautiful only when 
his image was reflected in its gray depths. And he 
had striven to share with her his hope and expecta- 
tion of the coming of an Unknown God who should 
dethrone the cruel Gods and reign in love and 
mercy. Even as he spoke of mercy, Gisela had 
shivered with a chill premonition that his trusting 
ardor and devotion would but lure him to destruc- 
tion, and engulf her in disaster. 

256 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


257 


And now she was alone; and the stillness of the 
night brought her no balm of comfort. 

She lay awake and waited for the dawn, — yet 
dreaded even while she waited. 

The silence frightened her; and though she had 
trembled at the ferocious voices of the winter storm- 
winds, and had craved quietness and peace, yet 
there was no rest for her in this silence, no peace in 
this hush, — only immeasurable weariness. She 
sighed and closed her eyes; but sleep would not 
come at her call. 

The night wore on ; the breathless hush was deep- 
ening, as the sky changed from sapphire blue to 
an enshrouding blackness, without one glimmer of 
light to herald the coming dawn. Waves and wa- 
ters, rocky shores and undulating moorlands, all 
were hidden. And blacker than the night was the 
darkness in the heart of Gisela, a darkness of des- 
pair so crushing that it almost blotted out even the 
names of Love and Gladness. 

Around her, as she lay in her bed, burned nine 
tall torches set in stands of iron. She feared the 
dark; and her loneliness so bitterly oppressed her 


258 


THE VALIANT HEART 


that she craved these lights as mute companions. 

Gone all traces of her beauty. Her eyes were 
dull and clouded, as if the soul behind them had 
been cast into a sleep so heavy that it held the 
heart and brain relentlessly imprisoned. 

Gone all the rounded softness of her face and 
form; gone the color from her lips; and vanished 
the grace and flower-like sweetness which long ago 
had drawn the eyes of the Chief Captain to covet 
her for his own, and not to hesitate at treason, 
cruelty and base betrayal as the price of her. Very 
long it seemed since she first had trembled beneath 
his burning gaze the day she was brought bound 
and captive into Western Alba, — the day Britric 
had taken pity on her and had cut her bonds and 
set her free. 

Suddenly, as if a veil were drawn aside, this day 
came back to her. 

When the Chief Captain took her to wife, the 
black-bearded Arch-Druid had laid his hand on her 
brow, and in the name of the Most High Gods had 
bidden her forget the outlaw Britric: 

“Perished is Britric; vanished his glory for ever- 
more; wiped out his name from man’s remem- 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 259 

brance. Nor even in the underworld of death and 
darkness shall he find his erstwhile bride or any 
friend to greet him. Alone is he among the de- 
mons! And, in the name of the Eternal Gods, I do 
command thee, Queen Gisela, to forget him. By 
the power of my wand I wipe his image from thy 
heart, his words from thy brain, and his face from 
the memory of thine eyes.” 

So had the Arch Priest spoken; and though the 
touch of his hand was neither rough nor heavy, yet 
by the power of his wand he took away from her all 
recollection of the past, leaving her only darkness 
and blank listless weariness. 

As in a nightmare, she had submitted blindly 
when the grim Arch-Druid laid her hands within 
the hands of the Chief Captain and pronounced her 
wedded to the man she utterly abhorred. 

The Chief Captain that day had been clad in a 
mantle of Phoenician purple. The crown of Britric 
was set on his brow; and the sword of Britric — the 
sword of the King — was girt to his side with sacred 
rites and ceremonies. 

And the multitude acclaimed him though they 
did not love him. 


260 


THE VALIANT HEART 


Since that morning, Gisela lived but as a slave 
to her harsh master. And though she was dressed 
in the robes of a Queen, and wore a circlet of gems 
on her dark hair, never was she permitted to for- 
get that her mother had been but a slave, and that 
in the eyes of the new ruler she was contemptible 
and base. 

Sullenly she had obeyed him in his every word 
and fancy; helplessly she submitted alike to his 
caresses and his cruelty. And there were many 
nights when he drank deeply of metheglin and 
mead, and came staggering into her presence, his 
eyes smoldering with a reddish light which boded 
ill for the shrinking, quivering woman whose fate 
was in his hands. 

“Coward,” he said to her one night after his 
tongue was loosened by his gloomy revels in the 
banquet hall. “Thrice-cursed fool and coward; 
frightened at a breath of wind, shuddering at a 
word, a look! Slave and earth-worm, verily, I 
loathe thee! And ’twas for thee, for a slave’s 
daughter, I betrayed my King.” 

His voice rose to a roar; then sank to a hoarse 
whisper. 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


261 


“Hast thou no comfort for me, Woman? Heavy 
the price I paid for thee! Yet even in my arms 
thou still eludest me, and dreamest of the vanished 
Britric. The Gods shall curse thee for a wanton, 
who beguilest and entanglest the souls of men, so 
that thy mute lips madden them to frenzy.” 

Gisela answered never a word. His fury was 
as a lashing storm, and she bent and swayed in 
it, and then fell at his feet in abject terror. 

With his foot he spurned her, as a huntsman 
might spurn a hound which had been disobedient. 

Then, when she neither stirred nor spoke, he 
scorned her the more. And lifting her up in his 
mighty arms he carried her into an ill-garnished 
room with one small window looking out across 
the waters. 

There he left her prisoned. 

No women came to wait on her. Nor could she 
gain tidings of what passed in the outer world ; for 
though a serf was sent, each noon and sunset, to 
bring her a horn cup of water and a lump of bread, 
he was one of the hapless wretches whose tongues 
had been cut out. In his own misery it gave him 
a sullen satisfaction to see the upstart Queen 


262 


THE VALIANT HEART 


brought low; and the malevolent looks he cast on 
her were such that she dreaded his coming, and 
shrank back and shivered when she heard him draw- 
ing the bolts to enter. 

The days crept by with leaden footsteps, and 
Gisela had but one solace. From the window she 
could look out towards the waves, as they came 
moaning, tossing, heaving, tumbling on the shore. 
And though she knew the spirits of the sea to be 
most treacherous and cruel, yet she hardly thought 
they could be terrible as men. 

When the fog swirled up and hid the waters, she 
would fling herself on the couch of wolfskins, and 
lie there in a stupor, scarcely stirring or even 
thinking. 

Her mind grew blank, her body inert, and her 
soul seemed sinking into a heavier and more dream- 
less slumber. 

But after a while the Chief Captain, the Usurper- 
King, had bidden his other women go to the 
Queen and bathe her in sweet essences, clothe her 
in silk, and braid her tangled tresses; and then 
bring her back into his presence. For though he 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


263 


was never happy or contented with her, he was no 
happier without her. Other faces pleased him for 
a passing hour; but from each of his women he 
turned after a while in scorn. Each and all dis- 
gusted him by servile fawnings. 

For love and joy he hungered. Yet he knew not 
love; and sought it by ways which led ever further 
and further away from it. 

Time and again he returned to Gisela; and again 
forsook her. And though she never crossed his 
will or raised her voice in anger or complaining, 
yet her horror of him smoldered, and he felt it. 

It seemed that love was not for him. So he was 
fain to divert himself by lashing up Gisela’s hatred, 
till it might break forth in word or action. Then, 
he thought, he would torment and punish her till 
she should implore his mercy. And he would give 
her brief mercy only to torture her again. 

Furiously he loathed her, in that she seemed to 
hold him by a spell even after he long had wearied 
of her. 

But she did not strive to hold him; rather she 
craved that he would leave her unmolested. 


264 


THE VALIANT HEART 


So fared these two, whom the Arch-Druid had 
pronounced immutably united. 

As May Day was dawning, Gisela the Queen 
wakened from sleep just as a pale shaft of light 
came through the iron-barred east window. 

She put her hand to her brow, and tried to recall 
what she had dreamt. The last few nights her 
dreams had brought faint memories of King Britric 
whom the Druid’s arts had wiped out from her 
waking mind. Now, as she struggled to recapture 
the lost dream, her head ached with the effort. 
Dully she hated the Arch-Druid for having taken 
Britric from her; nor had she any recollection of 
the hour in which she herself, in fear for her soul’s 
safety, prayed the Gods to wipe out love and give 
her peace. 

But never a day had passed since then that her 
heart had not weighed leaden in her breast, — 
though why it ached she understood not. 

With the quenching of her love for Britric had 
come the crushing of her spirit, the clouding of her 
brain, the fading of her beauty. 

The Chief Captain had won for himself only her 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


265 


trembling body. Her soul was dumb, and had been 
sleeping ever since the moment when she turned 
away from Britric. 

Yet the soul was not extinguished. In her 
dreams she gazed on Britric’s face. But when she 
wakened the dream had gone. Nor could she re- 
call Britric’s words, nor the tones of his voice, al- 
though she knew that she had heard him speaking. 

Very miserable and lonely the awakening; for 
save in sleep and dreams there was no comfort for 
Gisela. 

On the dark horizon, where sea and sky seemed 
one, a silvery light flashed into gold ; and the streak 
of gold widened and shot out sword-like shafts of 
radiance. The sky glowed rose-color. May Day 
had come, rejoicing. 

But for Gisela times and seasons long since had 
lost their meaning. She closed her eyes again 
and wished it were night, even as at night she had 
wished for morning. 

Then sleep had mercy on her. And when she 
wakened she felt so strangely tranquil that she 
wondered whence came this peace, such peace as 


266 


THE VALIANT HEART 


she had felt only in the protecting arms of Britric, 
Britric from whom she was for ever separated, 
Britric whom for her soul’s sake the Druids had 
commanded her never to name again or even to re- 
member. 

Gisela wondered what was her soul, that in order 
to preserve it she must forfeit every joy that had 
made sunlight in her gray existence? 

The rosy glow of the sky paled into mauve, and 
deepened to blue; and a breeze came up from the 
sea, not boisterous, but gentle and refreshing. 

Gisela stirred on her couch. She seemed to 
hear sweet echoes out of the past. 

Dim and far away the melody, but potent even 
in its faintness. 

She smiled; but in less than a moment the smile 
was frozen on her lips. Outside her door came the 
clanking footsteps of the Captain-in-Chief. (In 
her mind she called him “the Chief Captain” al- 
ways; never “the King.”) 

He flung the door open; bowed his head and 
shoulders to pass in; then shut the door and drew 
the bolts. 

He was dressed for the chase; below the window 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


267 


there rose a baying of hounds; and Gisela could 
hear the rhythmic tramping of the spearmen chang- 
ing guard. But the sounds reached her as if from 
far away; for the glow of her dream had not yet 
wholly gone from her. 

The Chief Captain stared and scowled. 

“Thou lovest Britric still,” he said accusingly. 
“Wanton, and daughter of a wanton, wouldst thou 
have two husbands? One in the flesh; another in 
thy dreams?” 

He strode across the room, and jerked her 
roughly up in bed. 

“Arise, and wait on thy lord and master,” he 
said. “Have I not bought thee at a price; even 
the forfeiting of loyalty and honor? And darest 
thou lie abed and dream of him from whom I took 
thee?” 

Gisela rose obediently; and she drew a long 
furred robe around her. But though her fingers 
trembled, the taunt had roused in her a new emo- 
tion, something which was not entirely fear. Like 
a hand groping in the dark, and touching a hidden 
jewel which the light will presently reveal, she 
searched for the lost dream. And the dream glim- 


268 


THE VALIANT HEART 


mered to her inner vision, so that in seeking it she 
lost her terror of the tyrant. 

Her drooping eyelids were raised; in her lan- 
guorous dark eyes a brightness was dawning. Her 
lips were parted in wonder; for the Chief Captain’s 
angry interrogating frown no longer had the power 
to shatter her. 

He spoke again, louder and more scornfully. 
But his words did not reach her. She seemed to 
herself to be standing at the entrance to a cavernous 
tunnel under the earth; and her fears were gone, 
for at the end of the tunnel she felt there would be 
freedom. 

She doubted not, nor questioned. As in a dream 
she went forward, stretching out her hands blindly 
but trustingly. 

The Chief Captain stood gazing silently upon 
her. Ever she had eluded him; and now he felt 
her still farther away. Although he stood beside 
her, their souls were worlds apart. 

Roughly he gripped her hands in one of his iron 
hands, and with the other grasped her by the shoul- 
der and violently shook her. 

She neither cried nor swooned. 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


269 


Hitherto he had despised her for her slavishness. 
Now he hated her because she did not fall down at 
his feet and beg for mercy. 

“Gisela,” he said; “I weary of thy wiles. With- 
out beauty or wit thou chainest me; and ’tis enchant- 
ment, vile enchantment.” 

She seemed not to hear him. Long and often 
had he tormented her, but to-day her ear was dulled 
to his voice, her eyes blinded to his scowl. 

“What, in the name of all the Gods and demons, 
had befallen her?” he asked himself. 

To her it seemed the tunnel now grew wider; and 
she felt she soon would come out into light and 
freedom. It was as if a silver thread were draw- 
ing her towards the light; a thread fine as a cob- 
web, yet strong so that not even the Chief Captain’s 
hand could break it. 

Gisela’s lips parted in a sigh of thankfulness ; for 
within her heart a sleeping voice wakened to tell 
her that Britric held the far end of the thread. 
And suddenly she knew the Druids had deceived 
her, and that her sin had not been in her love but 
in her terrified denial of true love. From the 
depths of her soul the past came to life; and she 


270 


THE VALIANT HEART 


saw herself as a straw blown in the tempest, — a 
tempest lashed up by those tyrants who ruled 
through fear and hatred. 

She saw her King and husband branded with 
marks of torture, yet unbreakably courageous; and 
herself, alas, so blinded in her miserable confusion 
and sick horror that she had failed him utterly. 
Yet even as she had turned her face away, she 
had seen his sad eyes shining with unquench- 
able love and pitying forgiveness. And this had 
frightened her the more, for it made him seem to 
her as a being of another race, and she had felt in 
the same moment awestruck and despairing. 

But now at last, born of exceeding grief, there 
surged up in her heart such poignant remorse that 
it lighted in her spirit a gleam of the loving cour- 
age for which Britric the King had looked in vain 
that frightful day of anguish in the dungeon. 

Gisela clasped her hands in ecstatic resolution. 
Even as the dawn comes first as a gleam of pallid 
light on the horizon, and then illumines all the sky, 
so should the dawn of courage in her spirit glow 
and spread until fear be cast out and the darkness 
of confusion conquered! For a voice in her heart 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


271 


told her that Britric lived; and Britric loved her. 
And now she must be worthy of his unchanging 
love. 

She would proclaim the truth at last! She 
would be his own brave Queen! 

As she gazed into a visionary distance the Chief 
Captain, enthralled and furious, glared at her, his 
dark brows frowning. A tortured rage rose up 
from the abysses of his storm-tossed spirit, for he 
knew that not for him were her eyes shining, not for 
him her pale face glowing with an exquisite new 
loveliness that smote his heart with arrows of jeal- 
ousy more bitter than death. 

“Thou art mine,” he said; “mine only. For ever 
curst and blasted is the soul of Britric. Thy love 
for him and his for thee is burnt to ashes, crushed 
beneath my heel, and trodden into the mire, even 
as thou shalt be, — yea, thy white tender body, — 
if thou seekest to escape me.” 

Then the new-born courage in the soul of Gisela 
shone forth visibly. Her voice was clear and 
steady, as she answered, 

“Nay, thy power over me is ended. Very long 
have I been deceived and enchained. But as 


272 


THE VALIANT HEART 


though a hideous black hand that blinded my eyes 
has at last been lifted away, so that I see and know 
the truth, even thus the fetters of my soul are 
broken ! I shall be thy slave no more.” 

In a frenzy of amazement the Chief Captain 
gripped her by the shoulders and hurled her against 
the wall. 

Vividly flashed back upon him that spring day, 
very long distant, in the forest, when Britric had 
come upon him and had bidden him unhand Gisela. 

And the memory tore him with conflicting tem- 
pests of remorse and fury, shame and jealousy; 
black hate and angry admiration for the King he 
had betrayed and yet could never blot out from his 
memory. 

His mighty frame shook with contending pas- 
sions. 

But Gisela neither quailed nor trembled. 

Silent and still she stood; and instead of lower- 
ing her eyelids, instead of turning her face away, 
she bravely met his eyes. 

And his heart sickened within him, for he saw 
the new soul in her eyes, — and he felt that soul was 
not for him. 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


273 


Then Gisela spoke. “Very poor and weak am I. 
Little did I merit Britric’s love. And very long 
and bitterly have I suffered for forsaking him, 
— punished even by those tyrants who branded 
my King’s flesh with red hot irons and drove 
him out into the desert. Verily I was bewitched 
when the black demons and the Druids made 
me say I utterly renounced him. False was this. 
And now, even as golden sunlight flashing into a 
deep cavern, so is the love of Britric illumining 
my spirit.” 

The Chief Captain stared at her, and put his 
hand up to his brow. Was this Gisela? Or was 
his own brain reeling into madness? Never had 
the slave-woman’s daughter spoken in such accents. 
Never before had he respected her. 

“The bones of Britric,” he said, “are whitening 
in the desert. His soul is chained in darkness. 
Let us remember him no more, for thou art mine! 
Mine, soul and body!” 

Gisela heeded him not. It seemed to her the 
invisible thread was drawing her more swiftly up 
through the steep tunnel. And she knew that a 
wide plain of sunlight waited her beyond. 


274 


THE VALIANT HEART 


As in a vision, — veiled from her mortal eyes, yet 
clear to her soul, and giving her increasing courage, 
— she felt the love of Britric penetrating from afar. 
It seemed as if his voice were saying “Fear not, for 
the God of Love and Mercy shall deliver thee.” 
So had he spoken in the dungeon long ago, when 
terror had dulled Gisela’s ears and closed her heart 
against him. But now the time approached for the 
fulfillment of his words. 

The Chief Captain watched her in silent fury 
and amazement. Deaf to the baying of his hounds, 
forgetful of his huntsmen waiting below, he gazed 
at her with passionate, devouring eyes. In all his 
mighty strength of thew and sinew, all his bulk and 
force and vehement energy, he felt himself de- 
throned, powerless, helpless. 

Must Britric even from the grave be still the 
King? Was the magic of the Druid’s wand a 
mocking lie and a delusion? Was all the seeming 
victory barren? Were the High Gods tottering on 
their thrones? Was Britric’s God, the Unknown 
God, no dream, but a reality so potent that every 
adversary must go down before Him? Was this 
Unknown God a great predestined conqueror? 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


275 


And were the torturers of Britric caught in the net 
they themselves had woven; caught and cursed and 
doomed? 

As he asked himself these questions, the Chief 
Captain’s face grew livid. His soul seemed to be 
sinking in a quicksand ; and then, for the first time 
in his haughty and defiant life, sheer terror came 
upon him. With terror came its attendant demon, 
coward-cruelty. 

Blindly, madly, the Chief Captain unsheathed his 
dagger; and furiously he struck out at Gisela. 

A swirling as of angry waves and waters, a rush- 
ing as of a mighty storm- wind swept over him; then 
vanished swiftly. And he stood amidst a hush so 
terrible, so deep, that it was as if the silence of 
death had closed around him. 

At his feet lay Gisela, his dagger sheathed in her 
breast. 

And she, whose cowardice he had mocked, she 
whom he had despised and scorned, she whom he 
had spumed as a hound, and taunted as a slave, a 
fool, a wanton, now appeared to him immeasur- 
ably precious. 

He would have given his life, his eyes, his soul, 


276 


THE VALIANT HEART 


to bring her back, and make amends for all his 
cruelties, and win her as a woman and a Queen 
should be won, by gentleness and courtesy and true 
affection. 

But it was too late. 

The cage was opened, the bird would soon be 
free. And his own hand had unlatched the door, 
— mad that he was, thrice mad with jealousy of 
Britric! 

But now even his jealousy was burnt to ashes; 
and he felt the bitter loneliness of desolate old age 
come upon him swiftly and irrevocably in a single 
moment. 

Love, hate, glory, triumph, vengeance, where 
were they now? 

He bowed his head, and from the depths of his 
heart came the cry, “Britric, forgive!” 

At the sound of Britric’s name, Gisela opened 
her eyes and strove to speak. 

The Chief Captain fell on his knees beside her. 
Tears scorching like liquid fire rolled down his 
face, and his hands trembled and turned icy cold. 
He did not raise Gisela, or draw the dagger from 
her breast; for when he drew it out her life-blood 


A VOICE FROM AFAR 


277 


must gush forth. He craved first to hear her speak; 
though in the same moment as he yearned for the 
sound of her voice he dreaded lest she curse him 
with her last breath, — a curse which would haunt 
him for ever. 

But when she spoke, faintly, feebly, her words 
were far other than he had thought to hear. 

“Britric lives,” she murmured. “I see him!” 

Then her eyes closed again, but after a moment 
opened. 

“Long ago he — has — forgiven — ” she whis- 
pered. Then came a deep hush. 

Gisela struggled to speak. In the great hour of 
life that we call “death” she was making her su- 
premest effort. 

The Chief Captain bent lower over her, lower 
still. 

“Britric forgives,” she murmured again, so 
faintly that it was less through his mortal hearing 
than in his anguished spirit her erstwhile tormentor 
felt the words which pierced his heart as with a 
sword of fire: 

“Britric forgives. ... I too — ” 

The rest was silence. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 

TV /TANY a time Britric had wearied of the splen- 
"** dor of Capernaum, and, as the days dragged 
by, he had yearned more and more acutely for the 
heather-clad moors of his own kingdom, which he 
could not hope to see again with waking eyes. 

The day he went out to seek Jesus of Nazareth, 
he was more than ordinarily repelled by the atmos- 
phere of the prosperous and densely populated city. 
Though it was early morning the streets were al- 
ready thronged, with merchants from Antioch, Da- 
mascus, and Palmyra; traders from the towns of the 
Decapolis, caravans from Istakhar and Alexandria; 
and, trudging afoot, sturdy Syrian peasants bring- 
ing the produce of their fields to sell in the market- 
place; fishermen from the Sea of Galilee; and Ro- 
man soldiers marching past with swift and rhyth- 
mic step. All these, of many different nations, 
jostled each other in their scramble for wealth, 
278 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 279 

power, or pleasure; making Britric feel only the 
more solitary. 

He turned out of the Damascus road, wandered 
down a byway to the shores of the Lake, and walked 
past a Roman temple, glancing wearily at the col- 
onnades of colored marble and the array of stately 
statues. Mars, Venus, Diana, Jupiter, Vulcan and 
the rest. He had often gazed on them before, and 
had sometimes mingled with the throng of votaries, 
in an attempt to understand the State religion of 
Imperial Rome. 

The previous night he had taken a letter from 
Claudius to one of the official dignitaries whose 
palace overlooked the shining waters. And as he 
stood watching the innumerable gaily-lighted boats 
gliding over the inland sea, his own depression had 
been enhanced by the sight of these many pleasure 
parties of Roman gallants with their ladies. Some 
of them he knew by sight, for they visited his master 
Claudius; stalwart young men; dissipated may be, 
but not yet so degenerate as to be incapable of tak- 
ing action when the need should arise to turn from 
idle dalliance to the real work of the world. 

Standing there alone, while the light of the lamps 


280 


THE VALIANT HEART 


and the light of the stars made the scene as clear 
as day, Britric had envied the revellers. 

Then he had felt ashamed, for he knew envy to 
be an ignoble quality, not worthy of a worshiper of 
the Unknown God. 

But on seeing these young men, in their purple 
and fine linen, diverting themselves with women 
who appeared to be rejoicing in their presence, 
Britric’s thoughts were drawn back to the night 
he first had taken Gisela out in a coracle on the 
waters of Western Alba. How adoringly she had 
looked at him, how exquisitely sweet her voice; but 
how pathetic her eyes, as if even in her happiness 
her soul foresaw disaster! 

Perhaps these thoughts caused his dream that 
he had returned to Alba and stood looking out 
across the sea and welcoming the sunrise. But 
the joyousness of the dream had given way to an 
acute depression, not negative and inert, but fiery 
and violent. And though Britric kept his emo- 
tions always controlled and hidden, they burned 
the more intensely the more resolutely he concealed 
them. 

On this especial morning, Capernaum was utterly 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


281 


repellent to him. Even by starlight its beauty had 
no glamour for his senses. By day its flaunting ma- 
terial prosperity and insistent gayety seemed the 
more mocking. With its medley of East and West, 
and its blend of barbarity and culture it was the 
most vicious of all the cities Britric had known since 
he had been carried away into slavery. 

Though warriors of many nations passed through 
the Damascus gate, and though the Roman garrison 
was in full strength, and the presence of Roman sol- 
diers on the Quays and in the streets was a per- 
petual reminder of the omnipotence of Caesar, yet 
beneath all the pomp and pride and opulence of the 
dominant race, Britric thought he could discern, or 
rather feel, a poisonous corruption. 

As he stood on the shores of the Lake, close by 
the Temple of Diana, it seemed to him as if all this 
magnificence was doomed, and as in a mirror he saw 
the noisy city changed to a heap of silent ruins. 

He wondered whether Jesus of Nazareth would 
be whelmed in the impending cataclysm, or whether 
His teaching possibly might build foundations of a 
new and powerful religion which should outlast the 
cult of Jupiter and Venus and Diana, and live after 


282 


THE VALIANT HEART 


their temples were abandoned and forsaken? But 
even while he looked impersonally into the future, 
his personal sorrow racked him, and never for a 
moment did his heart cease from its ache of pity for 
Gisela. Her cry of distress reached him amidst 
the multitudinous life of restless Capernaum. Her 
voice seemed the symbol of the voices of his people, 
helpless, confused, and weakly submissive to a 
tyranny which worked subtly on their fears and 
superstitions, and starved their nobler aspirations. 

Weary as Britric was in spirit, and little as he 
could see the reason why he had been dragged back 
from merciful death to the daily death-in-life of 
exile and servitude, yet an inward conviction 
gripped him that it was destiny and not blind chance 
which had been at work in this. If he could en- 
dure to the end, if his spirit could rise above his 
griefs, and faithfully trust the Unknown God, might 
not the way to victory yet be disclosed? 

Britric, despite all his sufferings, despite even 
his seeming hopelessness, was not of those who 
surrender or accept defeat. Exiled, dethroned, he 
felt himself still King of Western Alba, responsible 
to the God of Gods for the salvation of his people. 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


283 


If he, their King, wavered in faith and resolution, 
how might the people be released from bondage? 

As he asked himself this question, he felt a 
current of new life surge up in his breast; and he 
turned and walked swiftly through the crowded 
streets, making his way in the direction of the Jew- 
ish synagogue where the Ethiopian had told him 
Jesus might oftentimes be heard declaring His 
strange doctrine. 

The possibility entered Britric’s mind that Jesus 
— so utterly unlike any among the priests and 
scribes and doctors — might have learned the secret 
of the Unknown God. And he marvelled at his 
own previous dullness of mind. Only now the full 
significance of the words of Claudius reached his 
intellect; only now did he begin to realize that to 
have so impressed the keen-eyed and astute Cen- 
turion, this Jesus must be more than a mere 
preacher and a healer of diseases. Did not Claud- 
ius imply that Jesus probed the age-long maladies 
of soul and spirit, and had come to conquer evils 
which were at the root of the world-miseries? Had 
not Jesus said of Claudius, “I have not found so 
great faith, no, not in Israel”; thereby showing Him- 


284 


THE VALIANT HEART 


self exempt from such harsh narrow jealousy as 
would have characterized a Jew priest or a Druid? 

Britric’s thoughts flowed more freely as he 
walked the faster. If Jesus had been sent and 
chosen by the God of Mercy, the God of Everlasting 
Love and Justice, then surely if Britric spoke with 
Him face to face, he would see in a flash whether 
here was one whom he could trust, one to whose 
wisdom he might turn for guidance? 

Yet even as these hopes shone out like sunlight 
after storm, Britric’s heart sank. All his worst re- 
verses had stricken him just as he had been most 
confident and trusting. Should he again permit 
Hope the syren to lure him into ambush? Exalta- 
tion of soul had with him been always the prelude 
to disaster. Yes; but was he not a warrior? And 
may a warrior flinch under ten defeats, or twenty, 
or a hundred? Must he not endure to the end, 
believe to the end? For mayhap before the Un- 
known God can unveil His secrets, He must test the 
aspirant. And the more prolonged the test, the 
more soul-penetrating the ordeals, the greater the 
revelation when at last it has been earned by loy- 
alty and valor. 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


285 


The sun glittered on the white Parian marble of 
the synagogue, and this whiteness gleamed the 
brighter against a frowning background of rocks of 
black basalt. 

Without molestation Britric was allowed to pass 
in through the main door of the synagogue; and 
though he felt the presence of many groups of peo- 
ple, he did not look at them. His eyes were drawn 
at once to the face of Jesus of Nazareth, who was 
speaking in a voice which reached Britric’s inner- 
most spirit. 

It was even as the Roman officer had said; 
though Jesus was a Jew, — a Jew of the line of the 
long-dispossessed royal house of David, there was 
that in His eyes which seemed to look through and 
beyond all barriers of race and earthly heritage. 
A King was He, not visibly reigning in pomp and 
earthly magnificence; but a King in exile, a King 
whose royalty had come out of eternity and must 
last into eternity. 

The voice of Jesus was clear and very melodious. 
Courtesy and accents of command, gentleness and 
a strength drawn from the highest Heavens, met in 
His tones; and even before Britric understood what 


286 THE VALIANT HEART 

He was saying, the voice and face completely won 
his homage. 

His heart leapt and throbbed, and then grew 
tranquil as with a reflection of supreme calm from 
regions beyond death or time or mortal anguish. 
For the penetrating eyes of Jesus had seen him 
and were looking on him ; and the words which rang 
out were as a message of encouragement, a strong 
assurance that victory, though very long delayed, 
was certain in the end: 

“Do good to them that hate you; bless them that 
curse you; pray for them that despitefully use you. 
Do good, never despairing.” 

Britric started, but quickly regained his out- 
ward composure. Never had he known such rules 
proclaimed for the guidance of man in dealing with 
men! But had he not followed these rules even 
before he heard them voiced? 

Again Jesus spoke: 

“Be ye merciful as your Father in Heaven is 
merciful.” 

And again Britric’s heart throbbed with passion- 
ate intensity of aspiration, even as a caged eagle 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


287 


might beat its wings against prison bars and strive 
to fly out and upwards to the sun. 

Here at last was an envoy of the God of Mercy, 
one who dared to voice the true religion; and to 
voice it in this crowd of Jews, to whom such com- 
passionate commands must have seemed scarcely 
less strange than Britric’s invocation to the Un- 
known God had sounded to the men of Western 
Alba. 

The cruelty of the Druids rankled less in Britric’s 
mind than the shame of knowing his warriors so 
chained in bondage to a coward-superstition that 
they dared not follow him when he strove to save 
the seven helpless maidens. 

But here at last was a leader who counselled 
mercy and not sacrifice. 

Britric looked around to see in the faces of the 
Jews if they accepted this new teaching. In some 
he saw wonder, in others doubt, in others a sullen 
resentment. In a few a welcoming joy; but, alas, 
in very few! 

Even amidst his own ecstatic delight in hearing 
divine mercy voiced in a world of cruelty, Britric 


288 


THE VALIANT HEART 


felt a pang of sorrow when he gazed on the heavy, 
unresponsive faces of those in whom such words 
wakened no answering sympathy. 

Then, though Jesus was still speaking, Britric no 
longer distinguished the words. His spirit seemed 
to rise beyond need of words into a region where 
truth was silent but all-conquering. Though Jesus 
had looked at him but for one moment, he was 
aware that in this moment his soul had been read 
as never any other in mortal form had read it. And 
Britric who had refrained from revealing his se- 
cret wounds to any man or woman, was glad this 
awe-inspiring Jesus had eyes from which nothing 
could be hidden. 

The suffering and need of every human creature 
was to Jesus even as if He bore it Himself, so tender 
His heart, so all-embracing His compassion. The 
sorrows of the universe were His, and His the love 
which toiled to bring salvation. Britric who had 
carried the burden of an earthly crown, who had 
loved and would for ever love his erring people 
and never cease to pray for their redemption, Brit- 
ric could comprehend, more readily than the priests 
and scribes and merchants, how vast a load of sad- 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


289 


ness weighed on the immortal spirit of Him whose 
immortality was veiled in mortal form. 

In an instant Britric’s own sufferings seemed 
blessed, not accursed. He understood now that the 
more aspiring the soul the more deep must be the 
anguish of contact with cruelty and prejudice and 
blindness. Everything he himself had suffered, he 
felt Jesus was suffering daily, hourly, in secret, 
even though His brow was calm and His words tran- 
quil. 

Then Britric’s emotion of love and grief for the 
Divine One so overcame him that his strong frame 
trembled, and his eyes grew dim with tears, for it 
was as if he was back again at the Stones of Sacri- 
fice, cursed, branded, outlawed, mocked, and 
bitterly derided. But he was not alone! Beside 
him, tortured with him, hoping with him, forgiving 
with him, stood Jesus! And it seemed to him that 
from Jesus, from divine transcendent Love and 
Mercy, had come that inner voice which had en- 
abled him to pardon his tormentors, and to trust in 
God even while God appeared to have abandoned 
him. 

Britric put his hand up to his eyes, as if to clear 


290 


THE VALIANT HEART 


his bodily sight. Never had Jesus set foot in West- 
ern Alba. No man that terrible day had stood be- 
side the outlawed King and shared his anguish. 

Then whence came this vision of Jesus at the 
Stones of Sacrifice? 

Britric’s brain reeled. Jesus was born of 
woman, Jesus was man, and yet — and yet — how 
may a man dwelling in Galilee stand on the moors 
of Western Alba, sharing the pangs of torture, shar- 
ing the soul-agony, of one whom in earthly life he 
then had never beheld or known? 

And as if in answer to this questioning, the voice 
rang out, “That which is impossible with man is 
possible to God.” 

Then came silence. 

Then the shuffling of many feet, as the crowd 
passed out. But Jesus waited; and after a while 
went out alone. 

None of the people spoke to Him, though some 
looked at Him doubtfully, wonderingly. 

As He stood in the open space in front of the 
synagogue, Britric followed; and, forgetful or re- 
gardless of the onlookers, flung himself on his 
knees before the Nazarene. In a voice broken with 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


291 


awe and gladness and immeasurably deep emotion, 
he murmured, “What may I do to serve thee, Spirit 
of Love and Mercy?” 

Then Britric felt the hand of Jesus rest on his 
bowed head in benediction; and again he heard the 
wonderful voice in which majesty and tenderness 
blended as never in any other voice : 

“Well hast thou served Our Father, God the giver 
of all goodness. So I say unto thee arise, and 
proffer thy petition.” 

Britric staggered to his feet. Although he was 
a taller man than Jesus, and thus must needs look 
down upon Him as they stood face to face, he felt 
his soul was looking upward. 

The eyes of Jesus shone with a light which 
pierced down into the deeps of his affliction; and 
as the light shone forth, the darkness vanished. 

“In my own country, far away,” said Britric, 
“dwells my wife, from whom the blinded worship- 
ers of demons separated me. As a trembling dove 
she must be, amidst these pitiless hawks. Very 
weak and fragile is Gisela, and my heart misgives 
me for her fate. Save only mine own self, there 
has been none to protect and cherish her.” 


292 


THE VALIANT HEART 


His voice trembled. Then he said, “In my 
dreams her cry of anguish comes to me. Thrall is 
she to a man who knows not mercy, nor compre- 
hends true love. Send her deliverance, Lord, even 
from earth into the blessed peace of Heaven. And 
to him who wrongs her, send repentance, and God’s 
pardon.” 

Even as Britric spoke, it was if a leaden weight 
were lifted off his spirit. 

“Well hast thou loved,” said Jesus, “very faith- 
fully hast thou served; and God thy Father heareth 
the cry of thy soul.” 

Britric drew a deep breath, as one who from 
captivity comes out into the freedom he so long has 
pined for. 

“With all my heart I give thanks and praise 
unto God,” he said. “But yet another boon would 
I implore of the Eternal Ruler of the Heavens. 
May He grant His mercy to each and all of my own 
people, so that not one, not even only one, shall 
still be left in bondage to the demons and false 
prophets. And to the priests of the false gods, may 
God send His eternal light to conquer darkness.” 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


293 


As Britric spoke, his eyes were dazzled; for he 
beheld a shaft of pure white radiance shine from 
the skies as Jesus looked up and prayed. 

In a pillar of light stood the Nazarene, mortal in 
form but transfigured and illumined. 

And Britric bowed his head, but spoke again, eag- 
erly, fearlessly: “Lord, art Thou the one it was 
foretold I should meet face to face ere death o’er- 
take me?” 

And the voice answered, “I am He.” 

From out the light Jesus spoke; His voice so gen- 
tle the passers-by did not stop to heed it, nor did 
they see the radiance that surrounded Him. But 
for Britric the words rang out as a clarion, sum- 
moning from realms beyond the stars those war- 
rior angels he had striven in vain to call down, on 
that frightful morning at the Stones of Sacrifice. 

“Thou desirest the redemption of thy people,” 
said Jesus; “this also shall be granted thee. The 
Lord thy God is with thee; yea, and He will be for 
ever with thee. Called and chosen art thou, 0 
Britric, son of Britric. And many blessings shall 
flow out to all thy foes that thou forgivest and for 


294 


THE VALIANT HEART 


whom thou intercedest. Great thy love, and shall 
prevail, even by the grace of God the Father Al- 
mighty, thy King and thy Creator, to Whom all 
praise and glory now and for evermore.” 

As Jesus spoke the name of Britric, — the name 
Britric himself had not once heard since the Arch- 
Druid had pronounced it everlastingly accursed 
and wiped out from men’s remembrance, — there 
came a great peace to his exiled spirit. 

No matter what grief or torment might afflict him 
henceforth, he would never again shudder in fear 
lest the Unknown God be but a dream. The dream 
was true; and with truth to guide him, no darkness 
would appal. 

It was in this moment that the delivered soul of 
Gisela passed from her stricken body. And 
though Britric saw her not, he knew in his heart 
that she was free and he need grieve for her no 
more. He knew, too, that her spirit loved him. 
No longer did she turn her face away. 

Then all his bygone anguish bore fruit in a new 
strength. And as he looked into the eyes of Jesus, 


LOVE TRIUMPHANT 


295 


he felt a forecast of the glorious future, far away 
but certain and predestined, when God Himself 
shall dry every tear, and sin shall be for ever con- 
quered. 

Then hate and jealousy will have been van- 
quished utterly, and death shall be no more; for 
Love will reign supreme and radiantly triumphant, 
— even that Perfect Love which casts out fear, re- 
news the soul, and shall bring wandering man at 
last into the joyous heritage of the eternal Sons of 
God. 


































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